


Sweet Dreams - Assorted Flavours

by abovethesmokestacks



Series: Sweet Dreams [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky still needs a cupcake, Cupcakery AU, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots following the events of "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" as Bucky and reader try to navigate the murky waters of their relationship. Open for requests.</p><p>If you haven't read "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)", I suggest you blaze through that one first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whiskey Me Off My Feet

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here, the sort-of-sequel. There's not much of an plot spanning the entire series of oneshots, just lots and lots of fluff packed into each. I'm still taking requests for stories to include in this one, so either comment here or shoot me an ask on my tumbr (abovethesmokestacks).
> 
> Contrary to "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)", there might not be chapter cupcakes for every part, but I will probably make something at some point, because I clearly can't keep away from cupcakes.

_Whiskey: a strong alcoholic drink made from a grain (such as rye, corn, or barley). Depending on type, whiskey pairs well with apple, caramel, soft cheeses and sweeter chocolates._

* * *

His fingers hovered over the tablet's touchscreen keyboard, hesitant to type out the words that still lingered in his mind. Whiskey Lullaby. Bucky let out an exasperated sigh, clenching his hands into fists and quickly releasing them. It was probably nothing. It was probably innocent. Or as innocent as anything containing the word ”whiskey” could get. Which probably should worry him a bit. His last foray into finding out the meaning behind one of your cupcake names had left him thoroughly embarrassed and unable to think of you without blushing for days, and that was with a name that he had been sure couldn't be that bad.

_Googling ”Italian Stallion” had been an awkward experience to say the least. The only saving grace was that he'd been alone in his room, with no chance of anyone seeing him. The comment about the action star had echoed in his head as he typed in the words, but he'd just about choked on the sandwich he had been eating when the search turned up results for pornography. There had been no explicit pictures among the results, but the mere mention of the word was enough to immediately tinge his cheeks pink, and he had slammed down the screen of the laptop, thankfully with his right hand._

_Surely you hadn't-_

_You couldn't possibly-_

_Images of colourful spreads and posters of girls in scant clothing with garters showing, hair in elegant curls and eyes looking saucily into the camera had flashed through his mind. Some of them he could put names on. Rita Hayworth. Bettie Page. Betty Grable. So maybe he hadn't been completely innocent back then, but compared to what he had seen since breaking away from HYDRA, the pinups of the 40's were hardly even risqué. Nothing like-_

_He had let out a huff of frustration. He wasn't a silly schoolboy doing anything forbidden. And there had to be a reason you would name a cupcake Italian Stallion. Steeling himself, he'd brought up the screen again, jaw clenching as he'd sorted through the search results. To the right was a roll call of people who had starred in a softcore movie that had apparently been renamed The Italian Stallion. Of the people pictured, only one looked like he might be an action star, and Bucky had clicked on the man's image. Another set of search results had turned up, and he had spent a good half hour learning what he could. He had jotted down the actor's name along with boxing – Rocky noted underneath. A cinematic excursion for another day. Backtracking to the original search, his cheeks had again reddened slightly at the mention of the movie's nature. A video dominated the search result and for a few seconds, he'd been sorely tempted to click it, just to see what the fuss was about, but his abashment got the better of him. There might also have been a memory of his mother giving him a sermon that had made him quickly closing the browser window._

”It can't be that bad...” he muttered, leaning back against the couch and pushing away the memory before the embarrassment could creep up on his face again.

”What can't be bad?”

Wilson's voice cut through the silence, and Bucky quickly locked the screen, setting down the device in his lap just as Sam came up behind him. Bucky turned to meet the man's gaze. They were... friendly. He wasn't sure what to make of the man. There was the issue of Bucky having tried to kill him in D.C, an instance that still weighed heavy on his heart. Wilson frequently made teasing quips about their first interaction, something about ripping out the steering wheel being an overly literal reaction to something he called a ”meem”, and insisted on calling shotgun whenever they had to go somewhere by car.

”Nothing,” Bucky told him off-handedly, trying to arrange his face into a blank expression.

”Come on, man, what can't be that bad?” Sam insisted, plopping down next to him on the couch.

Bucky kept his gaze trained forward, mouth pressed into a thin line. He could ask. Sam might now. Probably did. But asking would lead to counter questions. Why did he want to know? Where had he heard about it? Who told him? They were questions he didn't want to answer, not yet. It had been two days since he'd spent the night sleeping in the cupcake shop, since punching a hole in your couch, since panda cupcakes and kisses and walking home with two boxes of leftover cupcakes, heart lighter than ever before. Wanda was the only one who knew of your existence, and for the time being, Bucky wanted to keep it that way. You were too important, the feelings between the two of you still too unexplored to tell anyone else. He wanted to be sure, wanted you to be prepared before telling anyone.

”Nothing.” Bucky got up from the couch, grabbing the tablet and walking off.

”Hey, Frostbite, come on!”

”Forget it, Wilson.”

He ignored Sam trying to bait him back with a flood of creative nicknames, instead heading straight to the elevator and up to his room, the tablet tucked safely under his right arm. Back in his room, Bucky made sure the door was locked before making a quick trip to the fridge for a cupcake. He'd asked you about them before leaving, commiting each variety to memory and then nicking a few he found interesting before depositing the rest in the communal kitchen fridge.

Cupcake in one hand and tablet in the other, Bucky walked to his bed, slumping down. He unlocked the tablet, bringing up the web browser again. The marker blinked in the search field as he peeled off the wrapper of the cupcake, an opulent confection with salted caramel that he'd been quick to save for himself. 

_Whiskey Lullaby._

”Damn it, Barnes, you're a grown man...” he muttered to himself, biting into the cupcake and typing in the two words and hitting enter.

Well, it wasn't anything... scandalous. As with the search for Italian Stallion, the first page was dominated by a video for a song named Whiskey Lullaby, the following results all leading to lyric pages for the same song. It eased his heart a bit, not having to sort through anything too lewd. Emboldened, he tapped the video link, scooting back a bit on the bed so he could sit crosslegged with the tab perched on one of his knees.

It started good. An old bus rolling down a gravel road. It started good, but that was about the only good thing. As seconds rolled by, the video showed soldiers coming home, one of them reliving the battlefield, and Bucky's left fist tightened. He glanced down to the title, thinking maybe it was a mistake, a faulty link, but no, the title spelled out the artist and the song title. Swallowing hard, he steeled himself. It couldn't be worse than the porn.

Finally, the strumming of a guitar dulled out the sounds of gunfire, the video zooming in on a picture of a soldier with his girl. The two were kissing under a large willow tree, making promises that sent pangs of recognition through Bucky's heart. He'd stuttered out the question late one night, relieved to hear Steve say there hadn't been anyone significant waiting for him at home after he'd left for the war. Still, the images seemed so painfully familiar.

_”We appreciate what you did.”_

_”We did what we had to do.”_

He wanted to close down the video and lock away the tab. The narrative was hitting a bit too close to home, stabbing at hazy memories he couldn't quite grasp and at the ache in his heart he thought had been subdued after the talk you two had had, but he couldn't make himself move. You'd picked the name for a reason, picked this song for a reason, and damn it if he wouldn't see it through and understand why. Forcing his breathing into steady inhales and exhales, he kept his eyes glued to the screen.

How he made it through the following four minutes, Bucky would never be entirely sure. The imagery of the video, hailing back to a time that was, should have been his own, coupled with the lyrics had his shoulders feeling heavy with guilt. There was a brief silence between the final chord and the screen fading briefly to black before a grid of video links popped up, but Bucky couldn't focus on anything but the lyrics, replaying in his mind. His hand reached out, fumbling until it found the phone he'd been given. It was mostly left unused, because who would he call? Most of the people he once knew were long dead, and those who weren't lived down the hall. Still, he'd dutifully programmed a couple of numbers. The other Avengers, all saved under codenames in case he'd lose the phone. On a whim, he'd saved the number of a couple of pizza places, all incidentally starting with a first name. He cursed as he switched hands to swipe the screen lock open, quickly bringing up his contacts to find your codename. 

You'd given him your number before he left, balancing the two boxes of cupcakes from the night before in one hand while taking the scrap of paper with the other. _”Call me, anytime you want to,”_ you'd said, and he'd been too flustered to give you his own number. Bucky wasn't even sure that he'd been able to remember it in that moment. Hours later, when he'd wormed his way out of explaining why the hell he'd come back with cupcakes, he was sitting in his room, thumbing the piece of paper. He couldn't save it. Not the number, not the paper. You were the first good thing to happen to him since he got back out of cryo, he wouldn't put you in danger. His racing mind had had no trouble providing him with countless scenarios that all ended with HYDRA getting hold of his phone, tracking you down and hurting you to get to him. Still, memorizing the number was also dangerous. If he was recaptured, he could easily be brainwashed into revealing everything, and he could be used to hurt you. He'd hastily entered the number, trying not to linger on the number sequence, then burning the paper when he was done. He'd told himself he'd have to be careful, that he'd have to crush his phone at the first sign of danger.

With each dial tone, Bucky could feel his pulse pick up, the fingers of his left hand thrumming dully against his knee. Why weren't you-

_”Hello?”_

Your voice, sounding strangely gravelly, finally answered, and he could feel himself let out a breath of relief, sagging forward.

_”Who is this?”_

”Are you okay?” he blurted out, immediately squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment.

_”Bucky? Is that you?”_

”Hi.”

_”What's the matter? Is everything okay?”_

Your voice was still rough, but there's a bit of a soft whine to it that made him furrow his brow. You sounded tired. He quickly took the phone from his ear, glancing at the time as the screen lit up. 9.30 am. 

”You were sleeping,” he stated, feeling immensely guilty for having woken you up.

At best, you had maybe five hours of sleep in you. Less if you'd had trouble falling asleep. 

_”Well, there was an attempt,”_ you said, a small snicker following, and Bucky suppressed a groan. He wanted to rewind and maybe look at the time and realize he should let you sleep.

”Tough night?”

_”Oh no, we're not doing that, mister. Why are you calling me at... 9.30 in the morning to ask me if I'm okay?”_

He hesitated, biting his lip.

_”Bucky?”_

”I googled the cupcake. The whiskey one.”

 _”Oh..?”_ There was silence between the two of you while Bucky tried to figure out what to say. Seconds ticked by, when a gasp from your end interrupted the quiet. _”Oh. Oh, god. You listened to it, didn't you?”_

He didn't say anything, and you groaned on the other end of the line accompanied by the rustling of bedding being tossed out of the way.

 _”Bucky, it's just a name,”_ you finally said, your voice lighter and comforting.

”The video...” he uttered, squeezing his eyes together.

 _”You... you watched the video? I haven't watched that in...”_ You abruptly fell silent, and he could faintly hear your quick steps and steady breaths, followed by rhythmic tapping. _”Oh, no. Oh, shit. Bucky, are... Are you okay?”_

You sounded so defeated, and Bucky couldn't help the snort that carved its way up his throat. ”I thought that was my question.”

_”Please, you have to believe me, I'm not- I wasn't- It's all the damn whiskey's fault. I made a stupid playlist, because after at least five swigs too many, it seemed like a great idea, and the day after, I just picked a name at random, and Whiskey Lullaby sounded decidedly best of all the songs I had listened to. I didn't even think- God, I feel five kinds of stupid right now.”_

Bucky could almost see you, probably curled up on the couch, leaning your head against your knees, or maybe your hand. Letting out a breath of relief, he mimicked the stance, leaning forward on the bed, letting his head rest against the cool metal of his left hand.

_”Bucky? Bucky, are you still there?”_

”Yeah,” he replied, going through the chain of events that led him here, reassuring himself that there was nothing to worry about.

 _”We're okay. I'm fine,"_ you promised, and Bucky wasn't sure he'd ever heard better words in his life. _"We're... There's nothing to worry about. Nothing has changed.”_

”Nothing?”

 _”Nothing,”_ you echoed steadfastly. _”Are you, I mean, would you like to come over tonight?”_

”Sure, doll,” Bucky said, sitting up straighter and shuffling over to the edge of the bed.

He might as well. In the two days since he'd slept in your shop, he'd stayed awake as much as possible, sleeping in increment naps through the day and throughout the night, not daring to push his luck. Just because he'd made it through one night without nightmares didn't mean it would continue that way. Knowing now that Wanda could feel it, the dreams and night terrors of others, he felt hesitant to sleep when she would most likely pick up on his nightmares. She didn't need that, had done nothing to deserve it. He was doing okay, at least for now, and the naps helped him keep up.

_”You're sure? You could come as soon as I open, then maybe you could get back in time to get a decent... Bucky, are you not sleeping again?”_

”I'm fine,” he assured her, not quite certain if he was lying or not. ”Besides, I think we need to talk about that lemon cupcake I bought a while back.”

_”The Italian St- Shit.”_

Bucky let out a throaty laugh at the obvious mortification in your voice.

_”You didn't.”_

”The world wide web sure is full of interesting information...”

_”Bucky, no. Step away from the internet.”_

”I'll see you tonight.”


	2. We're In A Jam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this chapter. I have no idea what this chapter even turned into. First off, I started writing the wrong chapter, and so had to do a double take and start over, and then it kinda got away from me. Big thanks to my lovely Loup for once again providing me with all kinds of lovely Brooklyn-related tidbits and to Kati who supplied me with a very important name. I hope you all enjoy this rollercoaster. 
> 
> Remember, if you have any requests for what you’d like to see in this collection, don’t hesitate to comment and I'll try to work them in!

_Jam: a_ _sweet, soft food made by cooking fruit with sugar to preserve it. Jam made from blackcurrants pairs well with chocolate, citrus, dark rum, mango, almond and oatmeal._

* * *

”Man, you gotta stop bringing these,” Sam sighed at the sight of Bucky entering the kitchen with yet another box of cupcakes. ”How the hell am I supposed to save the world and look fly if you keep fattening us up?”

”Speak for yourself,” Wanda quipped, taking the box and lifting the lid, fingers twirling in anticipation as she took in the selection. ”More for me.”

”Hey, hey, I never said I didn't want one! If there's one of those double chocolate monstrosities in there, it's got my name on it.”

”Not if I find it first!”

”Knock yourselves out,” Bucky smirked, eager to get away from the two.

He'd gotten back from Brooklyn around 5 am, box full of cupcakes and a smile on his lips. You'd invited him to stay again, but he'd politely begged off, kissing you sweetly on the cheek and wishing you goodnight. Sometimes, he'd follow you upstairs after you'd closed, revel in the quiet domesticity as you prepared to go to bed. You still had the same couch, the gaping hole covered by a strategically placed blanket. Bucky still knew it was there, and it jarred at his peace of mind. It was the main reason why he was afraid of staying. Even if he wasn't in the same room as you, he could cause damage. What if he woke up and didn't snap out of it? If he sensed there was another person in the apartment, and he no doubt would, there was no telling what could happen. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He wanted to stay over, but to stay over he wanted to be sure that his nightmares wouldn't cause trouble. To get rid of his nightmares, he'd have to battle them, which meant he had to sleep, and as things were, he didn't sleep.

”Now hold up just a second, Bionic Man.”

Sam's voice rang out, and Bucky cursed silently to himself, arranging his face in a smooth expression.

”When are you gonna tell me where you're finding all these cupcakes? Don't think I didn't hear you come in at the asscrack of dawn. What freaking bakery is open that early?”

”Are you seriously trying to argue with me over cupcakes?” Bucky retorted, trying to sound as bewildered as possible.

”Can you blame me?” Sam gestured back to the opened box. ”It's been one month of you bringing home cupcakes by the boxload, no saying where you got them, nothing. Wanda, help me out here. Isn't it weird?”

Wanda simply shrugged, munching happily on what looked like a cheesecake cupcake, looking pleased as punch. Bucky had to hold back a smile at Wanda's loyalty in not spilling the beans. Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to Bucky.

”Come on, Barnes, level with me.” The man fixed Bucky with serious look. ”You're not making these yourself, are you?”

”God no!” Bucky scoffed at the thought. It wasn't that he found the thought of him making cupcakes ridiculous, he'd enjoyed helping you with the panda cupcakes. It was that Wilson apparently thought he could make all of _these_ cupcakes. The selection had been exceptional tonight, and you had giggled at the way his eyes had hungrily scanned the content before popping on the lid.

”Believe it or not, Sam, night-open bakeries are a thing,” Wanda piped up between chews.

”Sure, and Tin Man here just happened to find one?” Sam countered, looking between the two of them.

”Yeah,” Bucky and Wanda said simultaneously, exchanging a quick look.

Sam was not impressed as he zeroed in on Bucky, ”And you mean to tell me you love cupcakes so much you buy boxes upon boxes for your fellow team mates?”

”I'm nice like that,” Bucky jeered, a nervous jitter working its way up his spine. ”I can stop if you want to.”

”Don't you dare” Wanda exclaimed, reaching out to hold the box protectively.

”Don't dare what?”

Tony appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair disheveled with dark circles under his eyes. Another all-nighter for Stark, too, Bucky noted. The two men looked at each other, nodding subtly in greeting. They were on somewhat friendly terms, but all too often things turned cramped and awkward between them. Tony tolerated Bucky's presence, and Bucky tried his best to stay out of the billionaire's way and cause as little trouble as possible.

”What's going on?” Tony asked, looking in turn at each of them before his eyes skidded to the box still tucked under Wanda's arm. ”Ooh, cupcakes! Who keeps bringing these, they're outstanding!”

”Yeah, Barnes,” Sam parroted pointedly. ”They really are outstanding.”

Bucky grit his teeth. He should have left as soon as Sam started squabbling with Wanda over the baked treats. Wilson would not back down, and Tony was not exactly known for letting things slide.  He still had Wanda on his side, and he hoped like hell that she could help him out of this mess and this room.

”Thanks, Wilson,” Bucky said sharply, giving the man a harsh glare.

”Okay, something's up,” Tony decided, pointing between Sam and Bucky.

There was a second of silence before the Sam and Bucky both spoke:

”He won't tell me where he gets the cupcakes!”

”He's obnoxious, they're freaking cupcakes!”

”To your corners, or I'm taking away your toys,” Tony joked, quite enjoying the scene before him.

Bucky huffed, still glaring at Sam, who had his arms crossed over his chest and a pout that made him look like an overgrown five-year-old.

”Now, can someone tell me what's really going on?”

”Wilson's cranky because Bucky keeps bringing cupcakes from a night-open bakery and won't tell him where it is,” Wanda supplied, peeling away the wrapper of her second cupcake. ”Bucky's frustrated because Sam is being Sam.”

”Please. Stark, you gotta admit, not telling us where he gets the cupcakes, it's shady.”

”The man has a point,” Tony affirmed, coming up to stand next to Sam before turning to Bucky for a rebuttal.

”Have you seen yourselves? You think anyone would be okay with getting you guys as customers?” Bucky supplied, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

”Well, the shawarma place...”

”Got hit by aliens, I'm pretty sure six people eating shawarma was not that big of a deal.”

Tony pursed his lips and turned to Sam: ”He also has a point.”

”This idiot is blowing things out of proportion. ” Sam snickered at his comment, but Bucky ignored it and continued in a slightly louder voice: ”Yes, I found a bakery that's open at night. I bring back cupcakes because I'm trying to be nice. I'm not inclined to tell you where it is because it's my business. I finally found a place where nobody cares who I was or what I've done. I get to drink coffee and eat a god damned cupcake and nobody cares. Is that so hard to accept?”

His voice had risen more than he had intended, and by the end of his rant, he was full-on screaming at the two men. Wanda sat unmoving, the hand holding the cupcake frozen mid-air as she processed his outburst. Bucky didn't fail to notice how the other hand was curled on the tabletop next to the box, red sparks already visible at her fingertips. He let out a breath, shoulders slumping. Couldn't they just let it go? He caught Wanda's gaze, giving her a look as if to say everything was fine, he would not have a breakdown in the middle of the kitchen. As soon as Bucky saw her relax, the red disappearing, his feet moved, pushing past Sam and Tony to leave.

”Wow. All this for cupcakes?” he heard Tony say in a subdued whisper.

”Tell me about it,” Sam replied, speaking out of the side of his mouth. ”You'd think he was...”

Sam fell silent, but Bucky couldn't bring himself to care. Just a few more steps and he'd be a out of the kitchen, and he could break into a sprint for the elevator. Perfect escape. Or it was, until Sam's booming voice filled the room.

”Oh, my god, Frosty's got a girl!”

Bucky froze, and in panic hoped that his action could be mistake for one on incredulity instead of, well, horrified guilt. So god damn close. He turned and couldn't help seeking out Wanda, his eyebrows knitting together, silently asking _”did you say something?”_ It didn't go unnoticed. Neither did Wanda's almost imperceptible head shake, and both Tony and Sam let out loud whoops.

”Barnes got a girlfriend? Holy shit, I am so glad I never bet on that, because boy, would I have to pay up!” Tony crowed, banging his fist against the table.

”You are being more crazy than usual,” Bucky tried, knowing full well he couldn't comment on the fact Tony would have bet on him not getting a girlfriend without essentially confirming he had one.

”'S all good, 's all good,” Sam assured him, between wheezing laughs. ”'Bout time you got yourself a hot date, Buck Nasty.”

The sound Tony made did not sound human, and Wanda was starting to look slightly panicked by the development of the situation. Bucky clenched his fists, the urge to punch something, or rather someone, swelling inside. Sam managed to curb his laugh to come up to him and give him a hug, dunking him solidly on the back. Not a good enough reason to beat up his allies, Bucky decided, but refrained from reciprocating Wilson's display of affection.

”Man, you gotta bring her over,” Sam told him, extricating himself from the one-sided hug. ”And tell her to bring the double chocolate cupcakes. Tell her Falcon will love her forever if she brings them.”

”You really think he'd bring anyone over ever?” Wanda hastened to say before Bucky could blurt something out he might regret later. ”If Vision wasn't born into this group, I wouldn't bring him around ever.”

”Does she know who you are?" Tony pressed, ignoring Wanda's comment. "Do you use a, like, a fake name?”

”I'm leaving,” Bucky sighed, turning around again. He'd leave no matter what they said.

”Do you call each other cute little nicknames?”

”Like Bucky Bear?” Tony giggled, mouth apparently full of cupcake.

”Cupcake!” Sam called out excitedly. ”Please, tell me you call her Cupcake.”

”That's a really good name. We could call them that. Bucky Bear and Cupcake.”

”Miss Cupcake.”

”Ooh! Miss Midnight Cupcake.”

The only comfort Bucky found in the conversation between the two men behind him was that it ended abruptly with sounds of slaps and whining exclamations of hurt. _Wanda_. He smiled to himself. She really was a good kid. He hightailed it the rest of the way to the elevator, asking FRIDAY to take him straight to his floor. He made sure his door was locked properly, not feeling up to any visitors, least of all Stark and Wilson. This had not gone the way he'd planned. He'd wanted to keep your relationship to himself until he knew he could fully trust himself around you, until he could be sure he wouldn't mess it up. It was still early days, and he loved every second he could spend with you, but he didn't want the others to stick their noses in his life, your life.

Bucky barely noticed the soft knock on his door. Too timid to be any of the guys. Sighing, he got up, shuffling over the door to open it. Wanda stood outside, wringing her hands together, looking at him expectantly.

”I'm sorry,” she started out, rushing past him into his apartment.

”Wanda...” Bucky started, but the young Sokovian didn't let him finish.

”I could hex them, make them forget. If you asked me, I could do it. They wouldn't remember.”

”Wanda.”

”I don't know how long it would last, but I could do it again, just keep making them forget,” she continued, twirling her fingers as red sparked from the tips.

”Wanda!” That finally got her attention, and the crimson haze fizzled out. Bucky closed the door, leaning up against it. ”You don't need to do that.”

”But...”

”They'd just find out again. Because I would keep bringing cupcakes and they would not be able to stop themselves, and I don't want you to feel like you need to keep them in check. It's not fair to you,” Bucky explained calmly. ”They know she exists. They don't know her name, so that's good. They can't trace her through me. I pay for everything in cash, the cupcakes I bring home are free, so unless Tony intends to sift through all invoices filed to Stark Industries and the Avengers for the whiskey cupcakes she sent over a month ago, he won't find her. No one will.”

He added the last part as an afterthought, content in knowing you would not be inundated by neither superheroes nor supervillains for the forseeable future. His friends would hopefully not be stupid enough to follow him when he went out at night, and if someone else did, Bucky knew he was adept enough to detect it before any enemy elements could get too close. You were safe. The thought settled like a warm, safe blanket around his heart. Wanda came up and gently put her hand on his arm.

”You care for her,” she stated, a small smile playing on her lips.

Bucky nodded mutely, looking away to hide the smile that graced his own lips.

”She's... important.”

”So it was true?  She's your girlfriend?”

”I suppose she is,” he affirmed, meeting Wanda's gaze.

”I'm glad. You deserve it.”

”Thanks. And no memory blocks, okay?” Wanda nodded in promise. ”But... maybe you could make sure none of them, I don't know, stay up to see me go out tonight?”

”Consider it done.”

Wanda gave his arm a squeeze before moving to leave. On impulse, Bucky reached out to stop her. She peered at him curiously as he let her go, quickly striding into the kitchen and opening the fridge. He returned seconds later with an enormous cupcake, waiting for Wanda to take it.

”Is that..?”

Bucky cracked a wide smile when her dainty fingers took the double chocolate cupcake from his outstretched hand.

”Do not tell Wilson where you got it.”

”Your secret is safe with me.”

Wanda left, and Bucky took the opportunity to nap, slipping between wakefulness and sleep for the better part of two hours. He never exactly felt rested, just more or less alert depending on how fitful his resting was. Steve came by to ask if he wanted to spar. If Sam and Tony had told him anything about their conversation earlier, Steve didn't mention, and Bucky was thankful for it. He found himself missing you through the rest of the day, through training, through the solitary dinner he ate in his small kitchen, through the mindless zapping between numerous channels that all seemed to be screaming at him. He kept glancing at the clock, counting down the hours until he could leave.

It was barely 8 pm when he couldn't take the solitude anymore. Shrugging on his jacket, he made his way to the elevator, freezing when he saw Natasha inside it as the doors slid open. He hesitated for a second, giving her a discreet once over. Casual clothes, hair in a messy ponytail, a dvd case tucked beneath her right arm. She'd get off three floors down. Biting down, Bucky stepped into the elevator, surreptitiously watching Natasha's expression in the shiny surface of the elevator doors as they closed.

”Going out, Barnes?”

The elevator continued its way down. So he had not been the only one to do a situational evaluation.

”Need to stretch my legs,” he offered off-handedly

They came to a halt again a few seconds later, and Bucky stepped to the side to let Natasha get out.. She made a point to twirl and back out, flashing him a crooked smile.

”Enjoy your walk. And just so you know... I really like strawberries.”

He had time to see her wink wickedly at him, and Bucky let out a disgruntled sigh. So Stark and Wilson had definitely circled the memo, which meant that the upper levels of the tower definitely knew, and he wouldn't put it past Tony to loudly proclaim the news in the Stark Industries offices. He'd have to tell you. It wasn't the most comfortable thought to linger on, and it gnawed at him all through the subway ride and the short walk from the station to the bakery.

The front room was still dark when he got there, but he could see the light flooding from the kitchen, indicating you were preparing for the evening. Veering into the alley, Bucky tried to think of what to say. You'd been together for a month, but your respective lives had not given you a lot of opportunities to be actually together. He visited you at the bakery as often as he could, there were lingering hugs and stolen kisses before he left. You'd call and text, but all of them got deleted from his phone as soon as he'd read them and replied. He hadn't been on a longer mission since you made your promises to try, but other matters had kept him preoccupied. He wanted more days to take you out, to spend time. To have enough time to revel in your company, to just... be.

Coming up to the kitchen door, he gave it two curt knocks before stepping back. Two seconds passed before he heard muted steps closing in and the familiar click of the lock, followed by the door opening just wide enough to squeeze yourself through it. For a second, your expression was one of confusion, but split into a wide smile as soon as you saw him. Bucky felt his lips quirk up in a smile of his own, taking in your form. He'd never come before opening hours, and seeing you in your patterned apron, already splotched by flour and and cocoa, hair pulled away from your face and your lips stained a deep burgundy purple from something that looked like blueberries... You'd never looked more radiant to his eyes.

”Couldn't keep away, huh?” you greeted him, swinging the door open wider for him to enter.

”You know what they say, feed a stray and it will come back,” Bucky deadpanned, wiping a spot of the burgundy mix from the corner of your mouth.

”And what if I like the stray?”

”Then I'll keep coming back.”

A laugh like a thousand rushing bubbles escaped you, and you punched him lightly over his right arm, muttering about needing something for the sugar high he just sent you into. When you turned around to return to your chores, Bucky followed, taking in the absolute mayhem that was your workspace. There were cupcakes everywhere in various states of being finished, their scents mingling into a heavy, aromatic fog that lay heavy over the kitchen. Some of the cupcakes were all finished, set neatly on trays to be taken out to the display case. Others were ready to be frosted and decorated with whatever trimmings you had picked out, while a few were on racks waiting to cool. A few baking sheets were still waiting to be put in the oven. He spotted what looked like Sam's favourite, the double chocolate cupcakes he always fawned over, and a small part of Bucky hoped they sold out tonight.

You stopped at the far end of the center counter by a tray of unfrosted cupcakes. A bowl full of white frosting stood next to it, a spatula resting atop it with a half-filled piping bag resting precariously against it. Next to that was a smaller bowl filled with something that looked like jam, the same vibrant colour as the smear he'd wiped from your mouth.

”Blueberries again?” he asked, pointing to the small bowl.

”You tell me,” you replied, grabbing a teaspoon from the counter behind you, dipping the tip of the handle into the jam and handing it to Bucky.

He accepted it, tasting the small dollop. Not blueberries, but something akin to it in taste. The texture was a bit grittier than he expected, but packed full of flavour, a hint of vanilla lingering. Bucky let his tongue swirl against the roof of his mouth, trying to place if he'd tasted this before. Nothing popped, and he wasn't sure if it was his unreliable memory that couldn't index the combination of sweetness and tang, the grit and the warmth of the flavour. Brow furrowed in concentration and confusion, he looked at you for an answer.

”Blackcurrants,” you supplied, dropping a dollop of jam into the piping bag, swirling it to create streaks of purple. ”Not surprised you didn't recognize it, it's been banned for almost a century. I have an acquaintance who cultivates them, and she happened to to have a pretty large batch for sale down at Grand Army Plaza.”

”Wait, they were banned?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow, looking hesitantly from the spoon to you.

”Still are in some states. It was something about fungus, but she assured me it was safe.”

”I hope you don't intend to market them with the fungus-tidbit.”

”What, like 'come eat the fungus berry cupcake'? You don't think that would get customers hooked?” you laughed, spooning more frosting into the bag, followed by more jam, repeating the process of swirling.

Bucky snorted, setting down his spoon. It was fascinating to watch you prepare, the simultaneously exact and haphazard nature of your process. The baking part was an art form, a display of chemistry in its own right, but within those constraints, you let your imagination run free. As you filled up the piping bag, no addition of jam was the same. Sometimes more, sometimes less, the swirls varying in intensity. The actual piping looked like a dance; slow and steady rotations as the frosting was shaped into a ruffled tip. Decorations seemed to go either way. Careless dusting of sprinkles and powders and relying on gravity to let glazes and sauces trickle down the ruffles of the frosting, meticulous placement of berries and candies, all to create a stunning end result. He was all too content to just watch, occasionally handing you something that was out of reach, opening the oven.

For a while, he almost managed to forget that he needed to break the news about Sam and Tony's discovery, and his face fell instantly when he was reminded of the reason he was here before opening. Bucky feared your reaction. You hadn't exactly signed up to befriend and fall in love with a supersoldier to begin with, and to suddenly have a whole gang of superheroes know about your existence would be enough to give anyone pause.

”Bucky? Would you mind?”

He hastily looked up, his thoughts interrupted, to find you standing next to him, holding out a tray of frosted cupcakes.

”Four hands are better than two, right?”

Bucky hummed affirmatively, and your small smile broke into a wide grin as he accepted the trays, following you as you walked out into the front room to start filling the display case. He stood quietly by while you carefully pushed the trays into the case, nudging stray cupcakes into line. What if you freaked? What if this was too much for you, and you would ask him to leave. The promises the two of you had made had definitely not had an Avengers inclusive-clause.

A careful nudge brought him back again, your face still graced with a smile, but with a wrinkle of worry growing between your eyebrows. It quickly smoothed once you realized he saw you, and you pushed past him to go back in to the kitchen to fetch more trays. Slowly but surely the case filled, and you moved on to fix the window display, using Bucky as your personal shelf while you climbed and leaned and twisted your way around the window. A few people who passed grinned and waved, and Bucky couldn't help but angle his left side away.

”You're awfully quiet tonight,” you noted when the final cupcake was set down onto a spring green cake stand.

Bucky bit into inside of his lower lip, desperately wanting to stall the inevitable. ”I'm a man of few words. Or so I've been told.”

”Funny, Bucky,” you deadpanned, taking the tray he'd been holding and tucking it under your arm. ”But you're never quiet like this.” You gestured at his face. ”Like the world is falling apart and you're trying to shield it from me.”

HYDRA would be appalled, he thought sardonically. Some freaking assassin they made, can't even stop himself from wearing his heart on his sleeve. Letting out a dejected sigh, Bucky sat down by the nearest table, eyes downcast as he fumbled for words.

”They know about you. The other Av- my te- my... friends.”

”What?”

His eyes darted upward, compelled by the utter disbelief in your voice. Panic began creeping through his veins as he took in your expression, searching for signs that might suggest he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

”I'm sorry,” Bucky blurted out. ”I didn't tell them, they just- Sam kept bugging me about the cupcakes, and then Tony came in, and they sort of-”

”Bucky!” you interrupted him, placing your hands on his shoulders, lightly squeezing them. ”Calm down.”

He forced a deep breath, letting it out shakily. ”They made a comment, about how I was acting like I had a girlfriend because I wouldn't say where I was getting the cupcakes. And I couldn't help myself. I didn't say anything, but they sort of inferred from my reaction that, well, I did. I swear, I didn't mean for it to happen. They don't know your name, they never will if you don't want to, they just know you exist.”

Shivers rippled through him as you dragged your fingers up to his face, cupping his stubble-covered cheeks. Instinctively, Bucky leaned into your touch, his eyes drifting close.

”Why haven't you told them?”

There was no accusation in your voice, only honest curiosity, and the wild beating of his heart calmed somewhat.

”Because they're morons,” he chuckled darkly before opening his eyes again to look at you, finding you peering down at him, lips quirked into an expectant smile. ”I didn't want to... burden you. Not with them. They're great, and they've helped me a lot, but they can be a bit, well, overbearing. And I didn't want them crowding in here, just to get a look at you. This life I have, with them, it's crazy. It's robots and shrinking men and master spies and superpowers, and it's overwhelming even for us at times. I guess... I guess I just wanted to bring you into that world on your own terms. And... Shit, I did it again, didn't I? I tried to protect you, and you never asked for it. I'm so sorry, I-”

”Bucky, stop,” you scolded him gently, pulling out a chair to sit down in front of him, your legs tucked inbetween his. ”I get your reasoning, and I'm okay with it. I don't think anyone would be prepared if the Avengers just barged into their jobs. You wanted to be considerate, and I appreciate that.That time, when I...” You fell silent, hesitant to bring up the memory. ”Maybe I needed a hand after all.”

You tilted your head, your eyes searching his for some kind of response. Bucky wasn't sure what to say. Slowly, letting you see him coming, he leaned forward, arms coming out to snake around your waist, he pulled you in for a hug, breaths fanning against the crook of your neck as he held you tight. Your hands came up around his neck, stroking his hair and tracing light patterns against the nape of his neck. In that moment, he felt so far from what he was, reveling in the safety of holding you close. He was not a superhero, not an assassin, not an asset, not a code name. He was a man holding the woman that anchored him to some semblance of normalcy, the slow movements against his skin soothing his anxious heart.

”I'm sorry,” he whispered against the collar of your shirt, pressing a light kiss to the soft material.

”It would have happened eventually, right?” you spoke, loosening your grip so you could once again look at each other.

”Eventually. I just wanted us to have more time.”

Giggling, you reached out, plucking one of the blackcurrant topped cupcakes from the display, handing it to Bucky. ”Seems like we're in a bit of a jam.”

For the first time all day, Bucky let out a laugh, an honest to god laugh that echoed through the shop, accepting the cupcake and their fate.


	3. Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fondant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and kudosed! So after last chapter's crack and fluff, I'm back to my regularly scheduled fluff-with-a-bit-of-angst, but I promise, it's more fluff than angst! ^_^
> 
> I'll have to see if I end up baking something for this chapter. You can, however, find the recipe for last chapter's cupcakes on my tumblr!
> 
> Enjoy!

_Fondant: a thick, soft, sweet food, made mainly of sugar, often used to cover and decorate cakes. It can be flavoured and coloured to pair with just about any flavour._

* * *

He was way too good for you. You came to this conclusion on the first date Bucky took you on. 

He had asked one night just before closing time, all tentative and nervous. It had been a while since you'd been properly asked out, and his endearing formality threw you for a second. Was it a bad thing that you'd gotten so used to equating ”Wanna hang out?” with a nice date proposal, that that was the extent of formality you'd come to expect instead of a slightly flustered gentleman with his hands clasped behind his back, cordially asking you if you would be interested to go on a date with him? You wanted to laugh, to tell him he didn't need to stand on ceremony, of course you wanted to-

And there it had been again. _Hang out_. You had worried your lower lip to keep from blurting it out, instead calming yourself, collecting your thoughts before answering.

”A date sounds very lovely.”

His boyish smile and the way his cheeks were tinged pink as he let his gaze drop at your answer had you feeling quite flustered yourself.

The two of you spent a rainy Sunday afternoon traversing Brooklyn, Bucky grumbling over the weather and taking you to all the places he could remember while you crowded close to him under the cherry red umbrella you'd brought. Most stops were alleys with fragmented tales of a much smaller Steve getting into all kinds of trouble. Some were spots where, in Bucky's words, the best delis used to be. So many of them had closed down, turned into something else, but that didn't stop Bucky from relishing in the memory of succulent cold cuts, store baked bread, the amazing combinations offered. Others were dance halls, long since closed, and his gaze would drift and you swore you heard him humming under his breath. You couldn't help but feel a little twinge in your heart. So much of the life he knew had just... disappeared. He'd mentioned how the building he used to live in had been torn down about a decade ago, and that alone had to be tough for him. To have these reminders, however small, just erased from the city like so much had been erased from his memory was not fair.

As the downpour had turned all the more vicious, a steady wind tugging precariously at the stretchers of the umbrella, you doubled back to one of the few delis from his time that was still in business, Bucky insisting that you had to try the house special. By the second bite, you had been ready to sign your soul over for the recipe. The goodnight kiss hours later, when Bucky was leaving to head back to Manhattan had tasted of cold cuts and vinegar, and you had giggled through it, before burrowing your nose into the crook of his neck. He'd spent so much time in the bakery, preferring now to show up while you were preparing for the evening, that he'd started to smell like a cupcake himself. It was a pleasant, safe scent that calmed your fluttering heart: soft vanilla mixed with sweet caramel and the barest hint of the shampoo and shower gel he used.

”I could get used to this...” you'd mumbled against his skin, savouring the scent of him.

For three weeks, you did. Bucky came by a couple of nights each week, sometimes content with simply watching as you baked and prepped, sometimes chatting amicably about the latest shenanigans Sam had been up to, or how Steve tried to get him to listen to some band named Nirvana. Some nights, he asked if he could help, and no matter how small the task you set him, he'd light up like a kid on Christmas. He'd stay throughout the night, picking away at a wad of bills as he sampled the night's selection. You knew he still didn't sleep, not like you wished he would, and you'd made a deal to only allow him two cups of coffee each night. He'd been surprisingly easy to convince, and part of you was delighted at this, hoping he would start showing signs of being better rested. 

It became part of your rhythm, a way for you to find time for each other inbetween life and its odd little twists, a strange kind of relationship where nothing was expected and everything so easily appreciated. Three glorious weeks of stolen moments to build from, and the bad guys had to come tear it all down.

He looked tired, almost to the point of defeated when he knocked on your door that night. It instantly put you on edge, even more so when he simply shuffled past you, mumbling a subdued ”Hello”, taking what had become his place for watching, leaned up against the counter closest to the doorway that lead to the shop.

”Bucky? Is everything okay?” you asked hesitantly, walking slowly up to him.

His lips pressed together in a thin line, but even a blind man could have sensed the lie in the way he aggressively nodded in answer to your question. Your hand came up to gently touch his right arm, giving it a squeeze before letting it brush up to his shoulders, carefully bringing your body flush with his, ever so carefully enveloping him in a hug. For a while, there was silence in the kitchen, your breaths barely even making a sound. Bucky's arms hung limp at his sides, and your heart stung at the thought of what must be hurting him so badly.

”Mission...” he finally mumbled against your skin, the sound muffled as his lips moved against your skin.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Of course there would be missions. He'd warned you, and you had accepted it. Bucky was an Avenger, of course he'd be out saving the world. Still, the luxury of downtime, nearly two months of peace and quiet and late night meetings, had nearly made you forget about that part of his life. Sure, he'd spend days away at a compound outside the city, but they were short absences, he'd tell you he'd be gone and you always knew he'd come back in a day or so, always come back unscathed.

”How long?” you asked, rubbing soothing circles against the nape of his neck.

He heaved a sigh, and you were once again reminded of his words. _I'll be gone sometimes. Don't know for how long._

”Steve said two, maybe three weeks. We leave tomorrow.”

His words felt like a punch to the gut, and you tried to keep your voice steady when you asked him: ”Will you be okay?”

”I won't be alone, if that's what you're afraid of,” he appeased, his hands finally unfreezing and coming up to hold you close. ”Steve will be there, Nat, too.” He let out a disgruntled huff. ”Sam... is also coming.”

It did ease your mind a bit. He'd have friends with him, no solitary hunt for bad people. Steve had been, still was, his best friend. Natasha could probably relate. And Sam... Well, maybe Bucky wouldn't have time to linger on bad feelings if Sam was there.

”That's good,” you whispered, clearing your throat to speak louder. ”You won't be alone, that's good, but... will you be okay?”

The way his shoulders slumped, his gaze turned down and the nervous chew of his lips told you that he had concerns. Something was nagging at him.

”I've been trying to sleep more,” Bucky confessed. ”I know you worry, and I want to get better. I still nap, but I'm trying to stretch them out. I slept for two hours yesterday.”

The small smile that etched its way onto his face, the hint of pride in his voice had your heart warming.

”I mean, I woke screaming, but I didn't punch anyone.” And just like that, the smile was gone. ”Wanda, she asked me once if I wanted her to... to suppress the nightmares so I could sleep, but they would just come back when she stopped, and I can't have her be my Sandman for the rest of my life. I need to fight them myself.”

”Bucky...”

”I need to try,” he continued, voice cracking, ”and I do, I really do. Every day. Every morning when I come home from you, I go to sleep. I try to think of you, and I try to fall asleep so I can fight this- this _mess_ that's in my head, and this mission...”

Two, maybe three weeks in the field. They probably wouldn't keep a normal diurnal rhythm. Not that Bucky was doing that now, but if he was trying to create one, trying to establish a pattern and trying to relearn how to sleep, then three weeks out in the field, forced into constant vigilance and stress, would not do him any favours. Part of you wanted to ask him to back out, find someone who could take his place. It was easy to say it was for his own sake, but truth be told, you wanted to ask him for selfish reasons. You enjoyed having him here. However, you also knew that Bucky's sense of duty would not let him back down so easily.

”Bucky, listen to me,” you spoke, cupping his chin in your hands and making him look at you. ”You're doing your best. No one's asking you for more, least of all me. Yes, you going on a mission for two weeks, three weeks, it sucks, but if anyone's going to make it through it, I know it's you. If you want to go on missions, I'm not going to stop you, and I doubt anyone else will. But... if you really want to get better, to start sleeping better...” You nervously bit your lip. ”Maybe ask to only be put on shorter missions? Are there shorter missions? Or do all bad guys require at least two to three weeks to realize they're beat?”

That brought out a grin, accompanied by a low, barking laugh that sounded almost like a cough. The way it set off that spark in his eyes told you his ease was genuine. It made your heart swell, this small act of making him smile again so contagious it drew your own lips up into one. Letting your thumbs draw down his cheeks you leaned in closer, burrowing against his neck as you brought him in for a tight hug.

”Would you like me to call Steve?” you murmured against him, wanting to coax out that lovely laughter again, ”Make him enforce a curfew for you? No avenging past... 2 am? That sound reasonable?”

Goosebumps instantly spread across your neck and shoulders as he gave a throaty laugh, his breath tickling you. He pressed his lips tenderly to the crook of your neck, an attempt to appease the raised bumps, but only succeeded in making them spread, sending shivers down your spine.

”If you think you can persuade him, doll,” he joked back, his right hand disappearing from your back for a second to find his cell phone. ”You want to call him now? Got him saved under George.”

Extracting yourself from the hug, you found him holding out the phone for you, a teasing invitation. He'd mentioned that he kept all contacts saved under a codename, but he'd never divulged what they were. You looked up to catch his gaze.

”George? I thought his middle name was Grant?”

”It is. George, it's... it's from Curious George.”

You knit your eyes together. ”The children's book? With the...”

”The one with the monkey, yeah,” he affirmed. ”It's an inside joke. Steve did, well, I guess you could call it PR, before saving me from the POW camp. Said he felt like a dancing monkey. And he never could let anything just slide. So Curious George.”

”What am I called?” you inquired, reaching out to take the phone, only to have Bucky pull back his arm out of reach for you.

”Wouldn't you like to know? Although maybe I should name you George 2, you're pretty curious, doll.”

”Come on, Bucky, you'll be gone for weeks, give me something to smile about.”

Immediately, the playful grin that had graced his features melted into a solemn mask and his eyes filled with a quiet sadness. His outstretched hand fell to his side, but you couldn't bother to snatch it from him, not when he clearly reacted to something you said.

”Bucky...”

”Will you be okay?”

The absolute concern in his voice forced a stuttering laugh from you, and you had time to reflect how that was not the most appropriate response, but you couldn't help it. He was the one heading out into danger, to fight bad guys who might, probably would, shoot at him, and he was worried about you. Bucky's eyes were filled with genuine concern and you once again reached out to let your hands caress the stubble on his cheeks, leaning forward to press soft kisses to his lips.

”I'll be okay,” you affirmed him between pecks, smiling when you felt him gently kissing you back. ”I mean, I'll miss you, and I'll have to throw away perfectly okay display cupcakes for two or three weeks, but Bucky, I promise, I'll be okay.”

”You sure? I won't be able to call you or text you, I'll have no way of letting you know that I'm okay.”

”Just come back home. Come home and I'll be more than okay.”

He held you close, a silent promise to soon be back. Together, you finished up preparations for the night. Bucky had become quite good at piping frosting, despite being wary of using the bionic arm. It proved surprisingly useful in its ability to keep steady pressure on the piping bag. He seemed to prefer the open star tip, eyes glued to the cupcakes as a slow, steady swirl of whatever frosting was paired with the treat was piled on in soft ruffles. You made a note to invite him on a Sunday after he got back and spend all day just piping frosting with different nozzles.

The night seemed to go by in a rush, too fast for your liking. Bucky took up his usual perch by the counter, working through the selection of the night. He grumbled a bit when he'd exhausted his two cups of coffee, but switched to tea after you gave him a mock-reproachful look. You took every chance to lean in for a quick peck, a brief hug, any and all physical contact you could come up with during down time. You'd said you'd be okay, and you still maintained you would, but the thought of him being absent for maybe close to a month had you suddenly starved for physical affection. Bucky seemed to pick up on it, and gave as good as he got, responding to each kiss and each embrace with pliant lips and steady arms around your waist. When the night died down, the last customers straggling out and the doors were locked, Bucky made no move to leave. He helped you clean up, sweeping the floors with meticulous movements, arranging everything behind the counter into neat order, even lifting the center counter so you could reach in to pull out a nozzle that rolled in under it.

When everything was in order, all lights turned down in the front room, every corner of the kitchen cleaned and the night's display cupcakes packed neatly into yet another box, Bucky still hesitated by the door, holding you close. Saying ”goodnight” this time felt different. The words didn't even want to come out, so the two of you just stood there, locked in a standstill where yes, he might not be leaving, but he wouldn't be able to stay either.

”Can I come up for a while?” he finally mumbled, loosening the tight hold.

You blinked in surprise. Wasn't this supposed to be your question? Looking up at him, you found he was still looking worried, eyes silently pleading for you to say yes, to spend just a little while longer together. At your nod, a fraction of the anxiousness disappeared, and he let you take his hand to lead him upstairs. Not a word was uttered, not during the short trip up the stairs, not after you entered the apartment. You feared if you said anything, it would lead to more talking and that would lead to the inevitable goodbye. You had said you'd be okay, and you promised yourself you would, but that didn't mean you had to be okay right this second. 

Bucky followed your lead, content in the silence. Putting down the box of cupcakes on the kitchen counter, he kept close to you as you milled about, preparing for bed. You knew he couldn't stay, and that you'd sooner or later fall asleep, so you might as well get everything out of the way. He trailed closely behind you like a shadow, at first to keep close and let you know he was there, but as you moved around the apartment, it became like a funny game. You'd take a few dancing steps to the left, only to have him follow, trying to mimic you. You'd make a little pirouette and he'd gently catch your hand to twirl you back around. It was all in good fun, and it helped make your heart a bit lighter. To your surprise, Bucky followed you into the bathroom and stood behind you, smiling, as you started to brush your teeth. You wondered quietly if he was getting bored, if he was just waiting for you to finish up so he could leave. The answer to your musings came just seconds later when he reached out to grab the brush next to the bathroom sink. Still keeping the comfortable silence, Bucky started dragging the brush through your hair with his left hand, the right following, smoothing over your hair. You relaxed into the sensation, the light pressure of bristles scratching your scalp.

With the exception of a small break when he left you alone to finish up in the bathroom, Bucky remained by your side. It was only at the entrance to your bedroom where he halted, hesitating to venture further. It almost felt as if there was a rubber band between you, the space stretching between you alerting you to the fact he wasn't close anymore. You turned to see him looming in the doorway, occupying most of the space, and you were suddenly struck with a feeling of self-consciousness at the state of your bedroom. The bed was still unmade from when you'd gotten up earlier that day, there was a pile of clothes on the floor meant for the hamper in the bathroom that you hadn't been bothered to move.

”You can come inside-”

”I should let you-”

The calm broken, Bucky and you instinctively looked away from each other. So much for that impasse. You let out a breath before looking up again.

”I know. You should try to get some sleep before you run off to save the world,” you offered, fidgeting with your arms, not knowing where to place them.

”I wish I could stay,” Bucky said in return, not moving an inch from the doorway.

”Me, too.”

In three quick steps you were back in his embrace.

”Be safe, okay?”

”Promise, doll. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

You let go of each other, and Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of your head. This was it, end of this night. Following him to the door, you had an idea, and stopped by a small table. Bucky turned to look quizzically at you, and you let go of his hand to open one of the drawers on the table, fumbling around until you found what you were looking for. Maybe it was a bit rushed, but right now it seemed like a good idea. You pressed the small item into his hand.

”A key?” he questioned, looking from his hand to you.

”I know we can't call when you're away, so...” And just like that, five seconds later, your brilliant idea seemed like the worst idea ever. ”I thought you should have one. I don't know when you'll be back, but promise you'll come here as soon as you get back. I don't care if you barge in here in full gear in the middle of the night, just...”

You could feel your sadness gathering like a lump in your throat, and so you fell silent, avoiding Bucky's gaze to keep tears from escaping. His face still turned up in your field of vision, seeking out eye contact with a small smile.

”Doll... Please, look at me,” he begged, and you reluctantly met his gaze. ”You really sure you wanna give me this?”

He held up the key, and you nodded mutely.

”Can't keep interrupting whatever I do to open the door for you,” you muttered, feigning irritation, and you were happy to see the corners of Bucky's lips tug.

”What ever did I do to deserve you?”

”Came in for cupcakes looking like you were a fish out of water.”

”I wasn't that bad,” he protested.

”Sure, Little Mermaid,”

Bucky huffed jovially, looking down at the key in his hand. ”I'll make sure to keep this safe. And I'll come back as soon as I step foot in New York.”

You embraced once more, drawing deep breaths to memorize the scent of each other. Bucky wished you a good night before disappearing out the door, and you returned to bed, feeling lonelier than you had in a long time. It took longer than usual before you drifted off, hoping and praying that Bucky would be okay going on this mission.

As for you... Saying you would be okay was easier than actually being okay. The first day went about as well as you figured it would. Even though Bucky would visit you only a couple of days every week his absence ached dully that first night, his empty chair by the counter making it glaringly obvious that he would not be there that night or the night after or the one after that. Your patrons started noticing after the first week, your normally sunny disposition exchanged for a sullen expression that could not be denied however much you tried to smile and bring lightness into your voice.

The second week was just as dismal, and it began to show in your selection. First you just changed up the piping nozzles you used, avoiding the open star tip that Bucky favoured. The results were varied, and as the week wore on, you began to make less and less of the frosted varieties, opting for other means to decorate. You made the Nut My Problem cupcakes again, the plum compote ones, a myriad of varieties that did not require a piping bag for finishing. 

As the days slouched by, you began to hope, to wish that maybe Bucky'd be home for the weekend. Maybe he'd amble in through the front door sometime just before midnight on Friday, all tired eyes and unkempt hair, scruff too long for lingering kisses.

He didn't.

So you held out your hopes for Saturday. It was a busy night, and you thought maybe you'd just look up and find him standing by the counter, that small, tight smile that made his eyes crinkle just so, hair damp from taking a shower, scruff trimmed down to a manageable 5 o'clock shadow.

He didn't.

You spent Sunday sleeping in, loath to do much of anything, and you ended up doing online retail therapy. For some reason, you felt like you really needed an embossed rolling pin, ten different kinds of wrappers and a few different shapes of mini cookie cutters. Your fingers itched as you confirmed your order. God bless overnight shipment.

Wednesday was the last day you could take without making something with buttercream. The piping nozzles were still on your self-imposed ban, however petty and pathetic it was. To account for eventual mishaps, you started prep early, mixing together a few different batches of cupcakes for the night, and for the first time in nearly a week, you made buttercream, a luscious variety that you seldom made otherwise because it was a bit time consuming. Dividing it into three separate bowls and flavouring each differently, you took a small spatula, and began spreading one flavour over a batch of cooled cupcakes. Using the spatula, you plopped a glob of buttercream onto the flat top of each cupcake, taking great care to shape it into a smooth mound. With every cupcake prepared, you set them aside to make use of your retail therapy bounty. 

The rolling pin you had picked out had a beautiful, ornate pattern embossed, looking almost like the intricate pattern on your grandmother's old wallpaper. You brought out a block of fondant, kneading it slightly to soften the texture, then dusting the surface of the counter and a regular rolling pin with icing sugar before rolling it out. When the pliant mass was almost as thin as you wanted it, you switched to the embossed rolling pin, taking care to put just enough pressure that it would leave a nice, discernible pattern without ripping through the fondant. It looked so pretty, and you wished you would have had time to paint the embossed pattern, making it really look like an old-fashioned wallpaper. Sadly, your schedule did not accommodate that artistic venture, and you quickly moved on, using round cookie cutters to make perfect circles that you gently fitted over the mound of buttercream, carefully pushing the edges down with a small modelling tool to make the fondant stick.

Finishing one batch of cupcakes, you opted to do another pattern for the other. Instead of embossing the fondant, you used a cutting wheel tool to make the fondant look quilted, cutting out circles and fitting them over the buttercream. To finish off, you attached sugar pearls where the lines intersected, regarding them with a satisfied look on your face. The meticulous work kept you focused, happy even. If it didn't take so damn long, you'd do this more often.

Your customers seemed to agree, depleting the entire supply of the fondant-covered cupcakes before midnight. The night in general turned out busier than usual, customers coming and going so frequently that you rarely could keep up with cleaning off the tables, let alone take a moment to breathe. By the time you turned the sign on the door to show ”Closed”, the display case almost woefully empty with only a couple of cupcakes left. With a sigh, you went through clean.up, absentmindedly gathering the display window cupcakes in a box with the few remaining cupcakes from the display case to be put in the fridge. Eyes drooping, you trudged up the stairs, your steps heavy. Kitchen could wait until tomorrow, you just needed to sleep. You barely made it upstairs and to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you could feel yourself drifting, falling facefirst onto your bed. 

A light touch stirred you from your sleep, a gentle, sweeping motion caressing your face. Letting out a soft mewling noise, you swatted at the thing so close to you, pulling your covers closer around you and turning your face into your pillow. There was a laugh, low and grumbling, that picked at your sleep-addled mind. It was a good sound, an oh-so-welcome sound accompanied by a warmth and an alluring scent of vanilla and caramel that made you smile lazily against your pillow.

”Doll...”

The first really good dream you'd had in nearly two weeks. Boy, did your subconscious deliver. You hummed appreciatively, letting out a deep sigh. 

”Wake up.”

Insistent nudges against your arm had you furrowing your brow, and you cracked open one eye, blinking to find focus in the dim light of your room. Someone was next to you, hunched by your side, and for a second, you felt tendrils of panic shoot down your spine until you heard that blessed chuckle again. Blinking, turning to push down your covers, your eyes slowly grew used to the low light, finding his features one by one. Hair pulled back from his face, eyes so impossibly blue you could discern their colour even in this darkness, the dull glint of his bionic arm.

”Bucky?”

”I'm here. We got back an hour ago. Came as soon as I could,” he said, voice still low and soft. ”Just like I promised.”

Your body felt sluggish and heavy as you extricated yourself from the mess of your covers, crawling up to sit cross-legged at the edge so you could reach forward and hug him. His arms came up to envelop you in a tight, warm hug. Your bed, your covers, your pillow; they all suddenly seemed so inferior in comparison to this haven. Drawing in a deep breath, you bask in the scent of him, the familiar vanilla and caramel. It's weaker than it was when he left, but still there, still so very much a part of him that it makes your heart constrict.

”What time is it?” you mumbled against his neck, reluctant to pull away.

”Still early. You should go back to sleep.”

You let your eyes drift close and let out a loud fake snore. ”'M sleeping. 'S is comfortable.”

Bucky let out something between a laughter and a huff of resignation, nuzzling against your neck as he held you close. It was a perfect moment, the two of you in the relative silence of the night. The city outside your window was still at is calmest, providing a calming white noise to set the backdrop for your reunion. Just the two of you, steady breaths, small soothing circles rubbed against your back, vanilla and caramel flooding your systems. Soon enough, you began drifting in earnest, your arms unclasping and slowly dragging down his sides. You whined when you felt Bucky shift underneath you, angling your bodies so he could lower you onto the bed. Reluctant to let go, you slid your hands up to his neck once again to hold him close.

”Don't go...” you mumbled sleepily, shuddering lightly as the now-cool covers were pulled over you.

Strong hands came up to untangle your grasp, lips pressing kisses to each before settling softly against your lips. You kissed him back, your lips pursing only minutely in response as you held onto his hands. You'd kissed before. Bucky, ex-boyfriends, stupid dares in high school. Of all the kisses you'd shared in all of your life, none could measure up to the slow and tender brush of lips against lips this early morning, each sweet undulation so full of affection and reassurance.

When you finally parted, his voice came floating through the sleepy haze: ”I'll stay with you, doll. Just go to sleep.”

You didn't need to be told twice. With a hum of contention, you slipped back into dreamland, unaware of Bucky leaning back in his chair, his right hand still holding yours with his thumb working comforting circles until your breathing evened out into deep inhales and exhales. You missed the fond smile as he let go of your hand, whispering something in your ear before tiptoeing out of the room. He wouldn't leave you, not after this, but he wouldn't allow himself to stay so close to you. Bucky could feel the fatigue of the mission in ache dully in his bones, and he was too tired to immediately go back to Manhattan. He let himself sink down onto the couch, leaning his head against the back of it. Just a short nap. Just a short break so he'd have enough strength...

When you woke up hours later, blinking against the light flooding in through the blinds, you stretched, smiling goofily at the wonderful dream you'd had. Bucky coming to see you, holding you close, that enticing scent that you could almost still feel tickling in your nostrils. Squirming to work the last ounce of sleep from your body, you rolled over. Your gaze landed on the chair parked next to the bed. That shouldn't be there...

”Bucky!”

Looking wildly around you as if he could be hiding anywhere in the small room, you sat up, sending the cover flying to the floor. No Bucky. He'd been there, that much you'd been sure of. The loving kiss, the hug, curled up against him. Maybe he'd left, heading back to his own room, his own bed, still too wary of his own mind and the lurking darkness there in. Touching your feet to the floor, you shuddered. It was getting to be that time of year again, when you'd need knit socks to walk on the floors here. With a yawn, you trotted towards the door, sweeping aside the heavy fabric.

The sight before you almost made you gasp. Curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around his torso and legs tucked close, was Bucky. There was no visible damage to the couch, and you couldn't help but smile. You silently approached him, smiling at the serene calmness of his sleeping form, the innocence etched on his face, as if none of the horrible things in his past had happened. He hadn't said what time he'd gotten here, and so you had no way of knowing how long either of you had slept afterwards, but seeing Bucky like this, you decided to let him sleep for as long as he could. He was back, and that was all that mattered.


	4. Tough Cookie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long, I was out of commission for close to two weeks because of tonsillitis and I almost had to give up on finishing the chapter today because of a bit of personal crap that decided to fall into my lap. Managed to work through it and finish the chapter for you guys. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Translation for the Russian in this chapter at the end. Please let me know if it needs to be edited!

_Cookie:_ _A small, usually flat and crisp cake made from sweetened_ _dough._ _Cookies can be flavoured in many different ways to pair with most sweet ingredients, such as chocolate, nuts, candy and berries._

* * *

 

”Are you okay?”

If your trembling hands were any indication at all, Bucky's question was not entirely rhetorical. Still, you nodded, a bit too quickly to be anywhere near convincing. It earned you a quirk of his eyebrows before his right hand found yours, a steady grasp that helped ease your racing heart ever so slightly.

”You sure?” Bucky prompted, positioning himself in front of you as if to shield you from the rest of the world.

”Yeah,” you breathed, nodding again. ”I-I'll be fine.”

Bucky lifted your hand to press a soft kiss to it. ”I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

”I'll hold you to that, Sergeant.”

_When he'd first asked if you would like to come to Avengers Tower to spend the Labor Day weekend with him and finally meet the rest of the gang you were sure he was joking with you. Apparently they had been nagging him on and off since he'd inadvertently let slip that he was seeing someone. You'd laughed, saying ”sure, Bucky, sure, we'll go on a picnic,” before returning to the Black Forest cupcakes you were decorating. When he didn't laugh or joke back, you halted, turning to see him stand there looking perfectly serious, and you almost dropped the spatula you were holding. Sending off cupcakes to the Avengers was one thing, but to actually meet them? It set off a worry that refused to settle._

_Logically, you knew the day would come when you'd meet them. As weeks wore on and you found more hours to spend together outside the cupcake shop, Bucky slowly began to open up. Maybe it was that he had begun sleeping better, that he stopped going on missions that stretched longer than a week, you couldn't be sure. He was still a bit vary of using his left hand, always keeping it covered when you went outside, making sure you were always seated to his right. But he was happier, a smile never far off, his touches would linger ever so much longer, and when he did come home from a mission, he always turned up in your room, gently rousing you from sleep to let you know he was there before occupying the couch. Some nights he slept, sometimes calmly, sometimes fitfully, and sometimes not at all, instead waking up screaming._

” _You sure you want me there?” you'd asked him, giving him an out in case he was asking simply out of politeness._

” _'Course I do,” Bucky'd replied, leaving the counter he was leaning up against to come envelop you in a hug. ”It's not like we can go out and do picnic at the beach like everyone else. We'll all fix something to eat, sort of like a potluck. It's not gonna be a huge thing, much as Tony would like it to be. Just friends hanging out.”_

” _Friends... and me.”_

” _I'll fight anyone, including the weird guy, if they try to make you leave,” he'd promised with a teasing grin. ”But I'm pretty sure we'd have to fight our way out.”_

” _What?”_

” _They... kinda don't like that I'm being so secretive about you,” he'd confessed somewhat sheepishly, leaning to hide his face in the crook of your neck. ”But I promised you. Whenever you're ready.”_

”Doll?”

You whipped your head up to meet his gaze, arranging your features into a one of mild surprise. ”Hmm?”

”I said we don't have to do this if you don't want to. They're a lot to handle, I completely understand. We can go back to Brooklyn and celebrate, just the two of us.”

It was tempting, but this would happen sooner or later, and better now under relatively organized circumstances than suddenly having them pile into your bakery without any warning. You squared your shoulders and looked sternly back at Bucky.

”James Barnes, I did not stay up all-night stressbaking Avengers-themed cookies for you to start giving me an out by the front door.”

You almost felt proud of how you managed to keep your voice level and the rampaging jitters internal. It was silly, but it almost felt like you were meeting Bucky's family, and you'd never been good with meeting the parents. Bucky peered at you, trying to decide whether you were being serious or not. Finally, he gave a small sigh, and pressed a kiss to your cheek while swiping his card against the security pad by the private entrance. The small light on the panel switched to green, followed by a click as the door swung open. You gripped the basket with the cookies you'd baked harder, following Bucky as he led you through a maze of corridors and security paneled doors until you ended up by an ostentatious glass elevator.

” _Good day, Mr. Barnes. The others are waiting for you and your guest on the 81_ _st_ _floor.”_

You looked around to see where the cool female voice was coming from, and you could hear Bucky snickering under his breath. He'd told you stories about the AI integrated into all systems in the tower, but to truly experience it was strange, almost disconcerting. The elevator doors slid open, and a quick light passed over the both of you, scanning your facial features.

” _Identified: James B. Barnes. Would you like me to set up a temporary profile for you, miss?”_

”I-I... Sure,” you stammered, not really knowing what else to say.

” _Please, step up to the panel and state your name.”_

You did as you were told with some hesitation, almost jumping out of your skin when Bucky carefully threaded his hand into yours for comfort.

” _Your temporary profile is complete, miss. You have access to the common room area, Mr. Barnes's floor of the housing section, as well as the private lobby. Please, do not try to access other areas.”_

You nodded mutely, your head swimming at the sheer absurdity. Talking AI, access here and there, your own profile. For a second you wished you had taken Bucky up on his offer to go back home and spend the day together. Bucky seemed to notice your worry, and gently pulled you away from the panel and into his embrace, holding you steady until your pulse settled and you relaxed in his arms.

”Just breathe, doll. It's gonna be fine.”

” _Would you like to go immediately to the common room area or will you be stopping by your apartment, Mr. Barnes?”_

Bucky loosened his hold around you to look at you, a silent question in his eyes. You took a shaky breath, reminding yourself that he would be there with you, that this was nothing to be afraid of. Nodding, you confirmed your choice, resuming your position leaned up against him. It would all be fine.

”Common room, please, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Bucky said, and the elevator took off with a soft jerk.

You turned your head to watch in silence as the floor numbers sped past you, Bucky's heart beating a steady, grounding rhythm in your ear. It would be fine. You had cookies, and if Bucky's grins at the end of shifts when you packed up the display cupcakes for him to bring home were anything to go by, his friends would be fine with cookies. Grinning slightly, you remembered calling Bucky in an absolute state the night before, demanding to know how many of his friends would be present so you could bake cookies. He hadn't quite gotten the correlation, and had thus made you more than a little frustrated when he couldn't give you a straight answer right away.

The elevator came to a halt, the doors soundlessly sliding open. You let out a breath of relief, finding yourself in a short corridor, a wall separating you from the common room. At the end of the corridor, where the wall transitioned into a panelled partition, was a staircase leading down, and you could hear subdued laughter and talk coming from the space below. Your heart once again sped up. Bucky was next to you in an instant, his right arm wrapping around your shoulders to bring you in close. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to feel nervous about, you told yourself. The people in this room, they were just people. _With superpowers and high tech gadgetry_ , your mind added quietly, causing your stomach to flip. You shook your head almost imperceptibly to rid yourself of the thought. Just people. Bucky's friends.

”If you feel like you need to punch any of them, I will pretend I didn't see it,” Bucky whispered in your ear, and you could practically hear the way he smiled when he said it.

”You think I'll have reason to?” you replied, leaning to sneak a peak around the wall.

”I think I've lived here long enough to be tempted.”

”Then if you need to punch anyone, I'll pretend I didn't see anything either.”

Bucky snickered and pressed a kiss to your forehead. ”We make a good team, doll.”

One final, deep breath, and you gently nudged Bucky to lead the way. He looked so proud and expectant in that moment, a smile tugging at his lips that you couldn't help but be affected by. This was obviously important to him, to have you here, to have this semblance of a normal gathering on a holiday. You could do this, if for nothing else, then for Bucky. Ignoring the violent torrent of butterflies in your stomach, you approached the stairs, keeping your eyes down for fear of tripping and falling. Only when you were at the bottom of the stairs did you look up again.

It was... ostentatious. In all honesty, you weren't sure why you had expected anything different from the man who built the tower. The open floor plan and the floor to ceiling windows along the furthermost wall afforded the room with space that made it seem so much bigger than it actually was, but the myriad of stairs and ramps and nooks and crannies had your mind reeling trying to map out the immense room. Right in front if you was a bar, currently unattended, but fully stocked with everything anyone would need to mix themselves a drink. Beyond the bar, on a landing that was on the same level as the elevator you'd come from, was a small kitchen where two men stood huddled over the stove, arguing with each other in hushed voices. You recognized Tony Stark as one of them, his silhouette being a fairly well-known one, and guessed that the other had to be colonel James Rhodes.

”Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!”

The amused voice drew your attention away from the kitchen, settling on the small group gathered on the lower level of the common room. They were huddled together around a small table, and when they leaned back to look at you and Bucky, you realized they were playing Trivial Pursuit, and you almost couldn't stifle the laugh that itched its way up your throat. It was so... _normal_.

”If you tell me T'Challa is hanging from the rafters to pounce me, I will kick your ass, Wilson,” Bucky retorted sarcastically.

Your eyes skittered over each member of the group. Sam Wilson, Falcon, had turned back to the board, but his shoulders were shivering from laughter. Next to him was Captain America, pleasant smile and blue eyes, and it seemed so strange to see him out of the uniform. Opposite him, seemingly draped over each other were two people, a girl perhaps a little younger than yourself, dark hair and fine features, and leaned up against her...

”Vision,” Bucky supplied in a stage whisper, having picked up on your astonished look. ”Not really sure what he is, but if you think robot, it gets easier.”

”Robot,” you echoed, your voice low and carrying all the surprise the strange, red man sitting with the girl caused you.

”And that's Wanda with him. I think you'll like her.”

You looked again at the girl. Wanda regarded you with a polite kind of curiosity that soon melted into soft realization. Offering a small smile and a nod, your eyes picked up on movement next to the odd couple. Natasha Romanoff had gotten up  from the couch she was sitting on, skipping up the few steps that led from the lower level up to the main level, her red locks dancing over her shoulders. You instinctively took a step back.

”I was beginning to think we'd have to send out a search party for you, Barnes,” she spoke in a melodious voice, a hint of mischief evident in the tone of it.

Bucky didn't answer, but shot her a slightly exasperated look. Natasha didn't seem to mind, and playfully stuck out her tongue at him, before coming to a stop in front of you.

”Natasha. Although from the looks of it, you might already know that.”

She held out her hand, and you took it, managing to stutter out your name as the two of you shook hands. Natasha quirked an eyebrow, looked down at the basket in your hands and turned to Bucky.

”Это она?” she asked, trying to sound neutral and pleasant.

”Natasha...” Bucky began, his voice a clear warning to the other woman. His arm around you tightened minutely, holding onto you harder.

”Я просто спрашиваю...” Natasha gave a sweet smile, clasping her hands behind her back.

”А ты уже знаешь ответ.”

It was strange hearing Bucky speak Russian, and you couldn't help but compare it to Natasha. You didn't fully understand what they were saying, although from Bucky's initial reaction, you had a fair idea. Still, when Natasha spoke, the words flowed gracefully, wrapping elegantly around her tongue, whereas Bucky sounded... slightly accented and a bit choppy in comparison, a poignant edge to his voice. His reaction gave the impression he did not particularly like speaking the language anymore despite being proficient.

Natasha, to her credit, dropped the matter as she seemed content with Bucky's answer and turned back to you. ”Come on, we just schooled Steve in Trivial Pursuit. He might need a cookie.” She nodded to your basket with a wink and skipped back towards the group.

”Sorry about that,” Bucky whispered, his eyes following Natasha warily as she skipped down the stairs and plopped down on the couch again.

”What did she ask?” you whispered back, curious about the interaction between the two of them.

”Nothing she didn't already know.”

”Hey! Is Nat serious, do you have cookies?” Sam hollered from the couch, eyes alight with hope.

Bucky quietly groaned, and you could do little more than nod, too stunned by the question and its asker to actually talk.

”Well, come on over, we got room here for you and Frosty!”

No sooner had Sam finished his sentence than another voice called out, this time from the kitchen: ”Wait, who's here?”

Snapping your head in the direction of the voice, you found Tony Stark leaning again the railing in the kitchen above.

”Stark.”

Bucky glowered at the man, who only shrugged in response before turning his attention back to you.

”I would say I've heard a lot about you, but Frosty here has been Fort Knox when it comes to his nocturnal lady friend. You can call me Tony. And save me a cookie!”

With that, the billionaire turned around and walked back to the stove, where James Rhodes still stood, fussing over a set of pots and pans. Swallowing, you looked at Bucky. He didn't seem quite as confident as before, but managed an encouraging smile as the two of you set off to join the others.

”Are you okay?” Bucky asked, worry evident in the lines between his eyebrows. 

There was no time to answer, and you plastered on a smile you hoped was convincing as you walked down the few steps that led down to the lower level. The superheroes seated around the tables all got up to say hello and shake your hand, the flurry of _hi_ and _hello_ and _so nice to meet you_ making your head swim. Natasha scooted over on the couch to make room for you, and Bucky gracefully took the seat next to her, allowing you the small comfort of sitting closest to the stairs, with Wanda and Vision a relatively safe distance from you. The board was set up again, and you and Bucky were invited to play. Bucky immediately declined, claiming he was just as bad as Steve, if not worse, and you quietly and energetically shook your head when the orange game piece was held out to you.

”You can join me in surveying the game, miss,” Vision spoke, causing you to flinch at being addressed. ”I have been prohibited from playing-”

”Because that thing in your forehead lets you know everything!” Sam protested, gesturing to the glimmering stone set in the android's forehead.

”Don't be such a sore loser, Sam,” Wanda admonished him playfully, flicking her fingers to levitate the die. ”I believe it's my turn to roll first.”

With that they were off, and after a few calm rounds, things quickly erupted into full on mania. Sam was competitive like nothing you'd ever seen. Steve, though not for lack of trying, was plain terrible, falling just short of a right answer almost every time. The real fight for the win was between Wanda and Natasha, who slowly but surely made their way across the board, collecting pie wedges as they went. Bucky seemed to relax the longer they played, shaking his head at Sam's overexcited spirit as he tried to will the questions in his favour and casually draping his arm around your shoulder. You couldn't deny the hilarity of the situation, nor the sweet gesture of having the heavy, soothing safety of Bucky's touch, but you still felt uneasy in their company. You were so... ordinary in comparison, just a regular human being among these superheroes.

Tony and colonel Rhodes (”Please, call him Rhodey.” ”Please, call him Tony Stank.”) joined you about halfway through the game, and the already buzzing energy in the room got kicked up further. Questions started being directed toward you, along with playful jabs that Bucky took the brunt end of. It was sweet in a sense, the way the group was so protective of Bucky, yet didn't hesitate to tease him and playfully taunt him for, in their words, keeping you to himself for so long. Sam, realizing he was no longer in the run for the victory, began begging you for cookies like a little puppy, and Tony quickly joined in.

”Not before dinner,” you tried, scooting the basket closer to you.

”Pleeeeeease..!” Sam pleaded, piercing you with his most pouting expression.

”I agree,” Tony added, leaning forward where he sat next to Wanda. ”Dinner's not gonna be ready for, oh, what do you think, Rhodey? An hour?”

”An hour?”

”Are you kidding me?”

”I will damn well starve before that!”

So many eyes were directed at you, all of them seemingly zeroing in on you in anticipation of your answer. You could feel your pulse thundering, a whooshing sound singing in your ears as you tried to find something to focus on. Something squeezed your shoulder, and you were vaguely aware of Bucky shifting next to you, having felt the tension build up in your neck and shoulders.

”Hey, you heard the lady. After dinner,” he said sternly, pulling you in closer to him.

You caught a brief glimpse of the glare Bucky was sporting before it smoothed out into a neutral, if somewhat cautious expression. The rest of the group simmered down, sneaking careful glances at you when they thought you didn't notice. Natasha even leaned in to whisper a question, presumably in Russian, to Bucky, only to get a quiet growl in answer. Failing that, Natasha took it upon herself to break the ice.

”No Hill today either?” she said, looking at Tony.

”Fury said he needed her,” came the answer. ”He took her off my roster a few weeks back. I tend not to question people with eye patches.”

”You are such a lady repellent, Stark, it's getting embarrassing.”

”Hey, it is not my fault Europe doesn't celebrate Labour Day. Trust me, Pepper wanted to be here, and she may or may not have said a few choice words about me appointing her CEO of Stark Industries before she left.”

”Thor's girlfriend then? And her taser-happy assistant?” Steve asked, twirling a card between his fingers.

”Presumably still in Norway.”

”Like I said,” Nat smirked. ”Lady repellent.”

”That is not fair, Midnight Cupcake is here!” Tony exclaimed, gesturing towards you.

”Midnight what?” you echoed, staring at the billionaire.

Bucky groaned next to you, but Tony obviously didn't take the hint.

”Frosty here refused to tell us your name, so we came up with a nickname-”

”More like an alter ego!” Sam interjected, trying to salvage the situation.

”Exactly, an alter ego!”

You could only nod, the surrealism of the situation too much for you to speak up properly. Who were these people? This had been so much easier before, when you could picture them as the heroes who saved New York, who saved Sokovia. The tension kept coiling your muscles, to the point where you could almost feel yourself vibrating in your seat.

”I'm sorry.”

Bucky had leaned in, his nose touching your chin and his breath fanning against your face. It was a calming gesture, just not calming enough.

”Could- Is there a bathroom anywhere near?” you whispered back, hands clenching into your jeans.

Bucky nodded, and you immediately shot up, drawing the glances of everyone in the room. You blushed furiously, not calmed in the slightest by Bucky standing up and wrapping his arm around you again.

”We'll be right back,” he told the rest of the gang, giving them all a pointed look.

You only nodded in agreement, trying to keep yourself from breaking into a sprint as you walked towards the steps leading up to the top level. There, you glanced nervously left and right but all you could see where ramps and stairs and nooks and crannies, impossible corners with no doors visible. You jumped when Bucky again came up behind you, his arm steady on your lower back, leading you back towards the stairs you'd come down from.

”What the hell kind of room is this? It's- where are all the stairs going?” you hissed under your breath. ”How many Donkey Kong levels of bullshit does this place need?”

”Wait, what? What's a donkey kong?” Bucky whispered, eyebrows knitting together.

”Nevermind. Where are we going?”

”Taking a break from the crazy people.”

”That's not a 'where', Bucky, that's a 'what'!”

Bucky only smiled crookedly as you ascended the stairs, heading back to the elevator. F.R.I.D.A.Y greeted you both as you entered, and Bucky requested to be taken to the 85th floor. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, exhaling deeply as the elevator began its ascent, the relative quiet of the small space soothing to your mind. Bucky pulled you into a hug, rubbing soothing circles over your back.

”Shoulda stayed in Brooklyn, huh?” he murmured against the top of your head.

”I'm being silly,” you berated yourself, voice muffled by Bucky's chest. ”They just want to get to know me, and I can't even get through a game of Trivial Pursuit without freaking out.”

”It's not like they're regular people, doll...”

”But they should be, they're regular to you! They're your friends, your family. I should be able to get through a family gathering without being overcome with the urge to flee the room.”

”Hey, hey, you're not fleeing.” Bucky slipped his hand under your chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze. ”We're taking a strategic break. Dinner's not gonna be ready in another hour, they'll just play endless rounds of that game until then. They're fine. We're fine.”

”I still think I'm silly,” you mumbled crassly, looking down at your hands that were fiddling with the hem of Bucky's shirt. Your eyes then landed on his left hand, more specifically the thing it was holding. ”You- you took the cookies with you?”

”You think they would have survived otherwise?” Bucky smirked, cheerfully swinging the basket back and forth.

The elevator came to a halt, the doors sliding open to reveal a short corridor. Bucky took your hand, leading you down to a door at the end of the corridor. It clicked open upon your approach, and Bucky hesitated for a few seconds before swinging it open. Following him inside, you couldn't be sure why he would.

”You... live here?”

Your apartment above the cupcake shop was roomy by New York standards, but this... this was extravagant. A beautiful open floor plan, floor to ceiling windows, spacious rooms and a kitchen that made you swoon internally. Screw Brooklyn, you could stay in Bucky's apartment for the rest of the day. The man himself stood off to the side, self-consciously scratching the back of his neck as you took in the place, all wide-eyed like a kid.

”It's... It is what it is, I guess,” he offered bashfully when you turned to look at him.

”It's beautiful.”

”So are you.”

You almost missed it, he spoke so quietly. A blush crept up your cheeks as his words sank in, and you launched yourself into his embrace. You would never get tired of his arms around you, you decided, never get enough of the safe space he created for you, one that shielded you from the outside, a little haven of caramel and vanilla. Bucky leaned down, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, drawing in a breath and releasing it, tickling your scalp.

”Come on, I got something to show you,” he said, releasing his grip on you.

Intrigued, you let him shuffle the two of you into the kitchen where he promptly began emptying the cabinets and the fridge, placing ingredients upon ingredients on the counter. There were all the stock ingredients needed to bake; flour, eggs, butter, sugar, baking powder, mixed in with every imaginable treat to enhance baked goods. There were chocolate chips and M&M's, mini marshmallows and pecans and raisins and blueberries, powdered sugar and a couple different flavour extracts. You stared wide-eyed at the selection in front of you, feeling a lump forming in your throat.

”You... you want to bake?” you asked quietly, afraid that if you spoke up, the lump would dissipate and you'd start crying.

”I'm sorry, I thought-” Bucky began, misinterpreting your reaction. ”I'll put it away, I'm sor-”

”Don't you dare!” You leaned over the counter, scooping as much of the ingredients as you could fit in your arms and pulling them against you.

”So you wanna bake?”

Still leaning over your bounty, you tilted your head up to look at him. ”When do I not?”

The smile on his face was enough to make you feel like you were the one doing him a favour instead of the other way around.

”What do you want to make?” you asked, gently letting go of the heap of ingredients to make sure nothing fell as you straightened yourself.

”Whatever you want,” Bucky replied, hands clasped behind his back. ”I... wasn't sure what you'd want to make so I got... everything? Even got a cupcake pan and some liners if you want to make cupcakes. Or we could make more cookies. I googled that Martha Stewart that keep showing up on tv, but she didn't inspire much confidence.”

”What did I tell you about the internet, Bucky?” you teased, revelling in the slight blush that crept up his cheeks. ”And we can make cookies. Judging by how Wilson behaved, we might need more.”

”He needs to be put on rations.”

Snorting, you agreed, feeling more at ease than you had all day. This was familiar, safe. Together, you set about making cookies, directing Bucky to help you out. He swished back and forth, grabbing bowls and spatulas and measuring cups, turning on the oven and preparing cookie sheets. Only when you started measuring the sugar and the butter did you realize he didn't have a mixer, causing Bucky to blush again for having forgotten it.

”It's okay,” you assured him, handing him the bowl and the spatula with a wink. ”Time to put that left arm to good use, Sergeant.”

Bucky looked a little hesitant at first, but accepted the bowl, gingerly taking the spatula. His first stirs were timid and didn't do much but shuffle around the butter, coating it in the sugar. Only after a bit of insistent encouragement did he get into it, mashing and stirring while the plates in his metal arms shifted and clicked in time. You cheered him on, happy to see him realize he could do something good with his left arm, something productive and nice.

Until his vigorous stirs caused his hand to clamp down too hard on the wooden handle of the spatula and it broke in half. His movements halted immediately, his hand frozen in a tight grip. The smile that had been playing on his lips melted right off as the plates shifted almost jerkily to open the tight fist he'd made and the top part of the handle fell to the floor, clattering as it hit the tiled surface.

Maybe it wasn't the most appropriate reaction, but nevertheless you giggled, so amused by the mix of betrayal, bemusement and irritation flashing across Bucky's face. You couldn't stop, not even when he started mock-glaring at you, a smile once again tugging at the corners of his mouth. It got even worse when he pulled the remaining part of the spatula, trying to scrape off as much of the butter-sugar mixture before tossing the scrap into the sink behind him. It was all so hysterical. You couldn't hang out with the Avengers like a normal person, so you were hiding out in your boyfriend's room, making cookies without a mixer and your boyfriend broke a spatula trying to be a stand-in mixer. You laughed and laughed, tears streaming down your face from the exertion and hilarity that strangely only you seemed to appreciate. Bucky didn't laugh. Bucky looked... worried?

”Doll? Are you okay?”

”That's... the thousandth time... you've asked me that... today...” you managed to sputter out between titters, suddenly finding him next to you, angling you towards him.

”Is something the matter?” he persisted, ignoring your exaggerated claim.

You bit down, trying to tamp down your guffaws. Bucky stood still, hands planted on your shoulders, waiting for you to answer.

”I don't know,” you bit out, wiping away errant tears still running down your cheeks. ”It's...”

”If you say it's silly, I'm not gonna believe you.”

It wasn't silly. You knew that much. It was just easier to claim it was silly.

”It's... a lot,” you amended finally, taking a few shallow, shaky breaths. ”I'll be fine, this... the laughing, it happens sometimes, I just... Cookies are good. I can do cookies. And maybe then I'll do better with your friends.”

Bucky cocked his head, soft eyes wandering to map your face. ”I'm not sure that made sense, but if you think you'll be fine...” You nodded, quick bobs up and down. ”Okay. I'll get another spatula.”

He stepped around you, returning behind the counter to rifle through drawers until he emerged with another spatula. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself into steady inhales and exhales before turning around. Bucky was back to stirring, a bit more carefully this time. Standing up on your tiptoes, you peeked into the bowl to see the smooth, creamy blend of sugar and butter, and you nodded appreciatively. Grabbing a smaller bowl, you cracked the eggs needed, whisking them lightly before gesturing to Bucky to come closer so you could pour the eggs into the mix. He snuck in a quick kiss to your cheek before leaning back to mix some more. You smiled. This was okay. Everything would be fine.

The rest of the baking went by without a hitch. Once the batter was done, you divided it in two so you could each make whatever kind of cookies you wanted. Bucky, somewhat surprisingly, decided to forego the classic chocolate chips, instead making a trail mix blend of raisins, M&M's and roughly chopped pecans that he mixed into his batter. You added some more vanilla extract, a bit of shredded coconut and plenty of chocolate chips to yours, wanting to try something new.

”You really anticipated me freaking out and needing to bake cookies?” you asked while the two of you were scooping cookie dough balls onto baking sheets.

”I anticipated we might need a break from them. They're a great group, really, but sometimes you just need to step away for a bit. I figured, I don't know, if I was gonna take you up to my room, I might as well try and make it worth your while.”

”Wow, do you get a lot of girls to follow you up to your room with the promise of cookies?”

”Only the ones I really like,” Bucky rebutted with a crooked smile.

You elbowed him lightly in the side, knowing full well it probably hurt you more than it did him. Bucky merely scoffed, mimicking you as you pushed a few more chocolate chips into your cookie balls, pressing M&M's into his own.

With the cookies in the oven and a timer set, there was not much else to do but wait. Bucky gave you a very brief tour, showing you around the apartment. It was a beautiful apartment, but very sparsely decorated. There were a couple of generic print canvas pictures hanging on the walls, a few vases without flowers in them standing on the table in the living room. He didn't have much in terms of personal items, nothing that marked this place as truly his.

”It's all probably gathering dust somewhere,” Bucky said, his voice subdued.

”What?”

”I don't have a lot of... stuff. It's all gone. Maybe they took it before our house got torn down. I know some of the stuff in the museum is from home. At least I think it is.”

”You could probably get it back if you asked,” you pointed out, sidling up to him.

”Maybe. It feels like it might be strange. It was so long ago. I haven't been that... that guy in a long time.”

You pursed your lips. ”He's still here, though.”

”You think?”

”I doubt the Winter Soldier would bake cookies.”

That earned you a hearty laugh and a nod in agreement. ”I'm pretty sure James Buchanan Barnes wouldn't either,” he added with a mischievous smile. ”He'd love to eat them, that much I can tell you.”

”Then who did I bake with just now?” you prompted, slinging your arms around his neck, reaching up to kiss his stubbled chin.

Bucky hummed against your forehead, bringing his arms around your waist. ”A very happy man.”

He canted his head, bringing his lips down to yours, capturing them in a soft kiss. You let yourself relax in his embrace, getting lost in the kiss. At first, there was just gentle pressure and chaste pecks, but they soon melted into daring swipes of tongues against the seams of your mouths. You let out a small moan, and Bucky took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, greeting yours with soft swirls that had you melting against him.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

The shrill beeping of the timer brought a sudden stop to your intimate moment. You broke apart, both panting heavily.

”Cookies...” you mumbled, almost accusatory, leaning up against Bucky's chest.

”You think they'll burn immediately?”

You considered it. They might not... but you didn't know Bucky's oven like you knew your own. Leaving them in for much longer than the required time might cause them to burn, and you'd be left with a batch of inedible cookies. And there was the irritating beeping that would not cease until you turned it off. With a frustrated groan you peeled yourself away from Bucky and hurried to the kitchen. The timer was turned off, and you peeked into the oven. The cookies still looked good, just the right shade of golden brown. Rifling through the drawers next to the oven, you found one oven mitt that you used to take out the cookies, placing them on the stove to cool.

”All clear?” came Bucky's voice behind you.

”Perfect,” you replied, stepping aside so he could see the result.

”Smells amazing at least.”

With a little smirk, you picked up one of your cookies, juggling it between your fingers so you could place it on the counter to cool, then did the same with one of his cookies. He apparently didn't own a wire rack, but you were sure Bucky's counter wouldn't suffer terribly over two warm cookies. Bending down, you began blowing air at them to help them cool even quicker. After about a minute of playing fan, you checked with your fingers, finding the cookies sufficiently cool to hold without getting burned.

Picking them up, you turned on your heel, finding Bucky bracing himself against the counter, an amused expression on his face.

”You taste mine, I taste yours?” you suggested, holding out your cookie for him.

Bucky nodded, opening his mouth slightly. You shook your head. The cheek of this man. Still, you couldn't resist the temptation, coming up opposite him, stretching over the counter to pop the warm cookie between his lips. He bit down, crumbs falling down between you, one of the surface chocolate chips smearing his upper lip, right at his cupid's bow. The look he gave you told you he knew exactly what had happened, and merely leaned forward, close enough for you to fix the mess. Lifting yourself up to gain a little more reach, you tilted forward like a gymnast, balancing your body. Bucky even had time to look a bit impressed before your lips brushed over his, sucking softly to clean off the chocolate smear. He groaned under your ministrations, lips and teeth nipping at your mouth, begging for more.

”What about yours?” you breathed between pecks.  
  
”It can wait.” His voice was hoarse and low, sending delicious chills down your spine.

Bucky deepend the kiss once again, slipping his tongue into your mouth, and you could care less about the strain on your wrists as you kept yourself lifted and tilted over the counter. His lips were sinfully soft and plush against yours, setting your body on fire limb by limb. If it kept going, you'd soon be horizontal on the counter, acting out something you'd heretofore only read about in romance novels.

” _Mr. Barnes?”_

The groan that followed was not one of pleasure but of exasperation. He hovered close, lips still on yours, but unmoving.

” _Mr. Barnes, you and your companion being stationary does not help.”_

”What do you want F.R.I.D.A.Y?” he grumbled sourly.

The pain in your wrists shot through you, and you slowly lean backwards until your feet touched the floor, massaging the ache away.

” _Mr. Stark requests you both to come down for dinner.”_

”I thought dinner was not for another...” Bucky picked up his phone to look at the digital clock. ”...twenty minutes.”

” _Mr. Stark thought it best to give you a decent window to get ready in case you were... otherwise occupied.”_

Another groan. ”Tell him we'll be down in five minutes. And to get his head out of the gutter.”

” _Certainly, mr. Barnes.”_

”I hate them,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head, then looking up at you. ”Will you be okay? I can tell them we'll skip dinner.”

”I'm here, aren't I?” you countered, shrugging your shoulders. ”I just need to bite the bullet. And you've got enough ingredients here for at least two more timeouts. I think I'll be fine.”

”You say the word, and we're out, doll.”

”I'll hold you to that, Sergeant.”

He held out his arm for you, and you took it, lacing your fingers together as you headed towards the door.

” _Mr. Barnes?”_

”What?” Bucky's sigh was now bordering on outraged.

” _Mr. Wilson requests you bring back the cookies.”_

You snickered at the look of indignation on Bucky's face, and let go of his hand to fetch the abandoned cookie basket. After a quick trip to the kitchen to pile on the fresh baked cookies, you returned, taking his hand again, squeezing it affectionately.

”You say the word, and we're out of there, doll,” you mimicked him, a teasing tone to your voice.

”I'll damn well hold you to that.”

Together you walked out, returning to the elevator so you could return to the strange family that was so obviously eager to get to know you. You felt a little better prepared this time. Bucky's hand held your tightly, an anchor in what would no doubt be a fierce storm that you would have to get used to. You'd come this far. Things would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Это она? - Is this her?
> 
> Я просто спрашиваю... - I’m just asking...
> 
> А ты уже знаешь ответ. - And you already know the answer.


	5. Spice Fiction/Double Feature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a suspiciously easy chapter to write considering I had set myself a deadline of finishing it in time for Halloween. I don’t think I’ve laughed or lived through writing as much crazy shit as I have with this one. It was originally put aside to be a separate fic, and a majority of the storyline got dreamed up in a crazy chat tailspin with Kati (because what else?). Someone requested a Halloween chapter, and I asked my partner in crime if it was ok to incorporate our Avengers Halloween insanity into Sweet Dreams, and Kati graciously said yes. This one is especially for you, Kati. To the rest of you boys and girls and ghouls: Happy Halloween. Enjoy my treat.

_Pumpkin spice: a spice blend consisting of a_ _combination of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, ginger, sometimes incorporating actual pumpkin. Decidedly associated with fall, it is used to enhance pumpkin dishes, from pies to juice to lattes._

* * *

 

”Are you doing anything for Halloween?”

You turned around to face Wanda, who had followed a very grumpy Bucky to Brooklyn. In her own words, she would have come either way, she just figured it was more polite to tag along with Bucky, seeing as he would most likely warn you (he had, in a very curt text), instead of showing up unannounced. To be honest, the heads-up did little to calm you once you’d read it, the memories of the Labor Day trip fresh in your mind.

The dinner had not been all bad, Bucky kept throwing angry glances at almost everyone who so much as tried to crack a joke at you, and he’d even kicked Sam’s shin so hard under the table that the man complained of bruising the rest of the day. Finally, you’d had to elbow him sharply to make him stop. If he kept running angry interference, you’d never get to know the others, however awkward and uncomfortable it may be. It took some getting used to, and the familiarity between the others struck you as something very intimate, something you maybe shouldn’t be privy to as an outsider. Wanda had been the one to slowly ease you into the group, asking you polite questions, berating the others when they became too brash.

”Staying open, I do it every year. Bake lots of Halloween cupcakes and some more durable stuff for the trick-or-treaters,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders, suppressing a wry smile as Bucky sat slouched over the counter next to Wanda, looking like he’d dropped his ice cream.

”You get a lot of those past midnight?”

”I open earlier, close up around 2 am. It’s the only day that’s close to normal business hours for me.”

Wanda heaved a dramatic sigh, and Bucky let his head fall to the counter top in resignation. Furrowing your brow, you looked at the two of them.

”What?”

”She wants you to come to the tower for Tony’s Halloween party,” came Bucky’s muffled voice. He lifted his head and gave Wanda an annoyed glance. ”I was gonna ask you, give you a chance to say no given the Labor Day party, but _someone_ had to come along and lay it on so thick you couldn’t walk out of it even if you tried.”

Wanda shoved him playfully, and though you couldn’t help but smile at the almost sibling-like display between them, the reminder of the Labor Day dinner did cause you to hesitate.

”Who will be there?” you inquired cautiously, eyes landing back on Wanda.

”Same people as last time,” she appeased you, no doubt sensing your unease. ”Plus Clint,” she added as an afterthought. ”He didn’t want to miss this.”

”What’s so special about it?”

”Besides it being Tony’s party and thus destined to go overboard?” Bucky snarked, his head resting against his right hand, elbow propped up. ”We’re apparently watching some movie. Tony said costumes, and then I bailed.”

”Don’t listen to Grumpy Grandpa. We’re watching Rocky Horror Picture Show. Tony’s putting together the whole thing, all the fun stuff, plus costumes. He wanted to know if you’d come so he could take that into consideration when renting clothes. And I’m sure he can comp you for any business lost.”

Rocky Horror. It was a cult classic, and you’d gone to Halloween midnight showings all through college, dressing up as a Transylvanian. Dressing up as something else had never struck you, and now that the opportunity presented itself… You would not be opposed to returning to the Avengers tower for this. Glancing at Bucky, you saw him observing you, eyebrows slightly furrowed. He obviously thought Wanda was trying to coerce you into this, and maybe he didn’t want to go but would if you did. You bit your lip.

”CanI think it over?”

”Of course,” Wanda smiled pleasantly. ”You two talk it over. Now, can I have one of the Triple Chips and two of the Carrot Tops to go?”

Nodding, you went to pick out the cupcakes for Wanda, placing them in a takeout box and ringing her up. She happily paid and positively skipped out, and you thought you could see her pulling out a cellphone before she disappeared out of view. Next to you, Bucky heaved a sigh, and once again let his head rest against the counter.

”She picked out your address from my head, because apparently I am that dumb,” he muttered, not even looking at you.

Snickering, you crossed your arms and leaned down, tilting your head so you could be face to face with him. ”Hey, now, Grumpy, it’s not that bad. She’s… nice. Spunky.”

”She’s conniving,” Bucky rebutted, but his eyes now held a spark of mischief.

Scrunching up your nose with a smile, you leaned in and gave him a quick peck to the top of his. The shop was still empty save for you and Bucky, and you enjoyed the solitude, the opportunity it afforded you for displays of affection. Your soldier gave a low, pleased hum, eyes fluttering close.

”Bucky… do you want to go to the party?” you then asked, emphasizing the ‘you’.

”It doesn’t matter to me,” he replied after a few seconds of silence. ”They’re all nuts. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to. We can stay here, you can keep open as usual and I’ll help you with the trick-or-treaters and I… could even stay for a while after you close.”

You couldn’t help but smile. For all the awful things Bucky thought about himself, he never seemed to realize just how sweet and caring he could be. You had vague memories of seeing grainy images of the Winter Soldier in the newspapers after the incident in D.C, a sharp, angular man, facial features hardened and angry. He was nothing like the man in front of you. Sure, Bucky was strong, and the metal arm made it hard to ignore his background, but the softness in his eyes, the featherlight, lingering touches and the smiles he now bestowed upon you were a far cry from the assassin.

”I would’t mind going,” you confessed, leaning to rest your chin on your hands. ”We can still do the trick-or-treating and then go back. The movie is not half-bad, and there are a lot of fun stuff involved in watching it.”

”Like what?”

Bucky peeked up at you, reaching for his cup of coffee. You pursed your lips. He was intrigued, and at least a small part of him probably wanted to go, if for nothing else than to hang out with his friends.

”Now why would I tell you that? It’ll just spoil all the fun.”

”Fine, I’ll find it on the internet.”

”Oh, that is a rabbit hole you do not wanna go down, Bucky.”

”Come on, recon never hurt anyone,” he protested, taking a swig of his coffee.

”Do I need to remind you of the whiskey-fiasco? Come on, Bucky, it’ll spoil the movie for you if you google!” you whined, fixing him with your best puppy dog stare.

He tried to hold his own with a stern gaze, but soon enough you could see the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smile, and you let your tongue peak out teasingly between your lips.

”Fine. No recon. But in that case I’m taking Stevie with me. If I have to go into this blind, he’s doing the same.”

You snickered at this, as if Bucky needed your permission to bring Steve-freaking-Rogers along on his Rocky Horror blackout. Nevertheless you nodded, figuring neither of them would make it to Halloween without googling or being told anything. If they somehow made it two weeks without finding something out on their own, then surely someone else would spoil things, right?

No.

Missions and busy schedules kept Bucky away from Brooklyn up until Halloween, although he had texted you a few days after his last visit to ask for your dress sizes, swearing up and down that it was Wanda, and by extension Tony, who needed them for the costumes when you teased him about it. The whole thing ended with you granting Bucky permission to give Wanda your number to sort it out, as Bucky started sounding more and more crass with being your middle man.

With your plans set, you reworked your Halloween schedule, putting up a large sign in your window with the revised opening hours and made sure to remind customers. Days were spent planning the spread, the trick-or-treat candy, going through scribbles from previous years to make an estimate of how much you needed to make. Bucky called you from the compound on one such night, bemoaning his misfortune at being stuck in upstate New York so far from Brooklyn. Chuckling, you promised him he could have any leftover trick-or-treat goodies, which appeased him.

In the end, Bucky was left with four measly cakepops and two rice krispie treats, which he happily munched on while you packed up the pumpkin cupcakes you’d set aside for the Halloween party.  The shop was locked up and tidied, your purse resting on the counter next to you. According to Bucky, you wouldn’t need anything else, everything had been set up at the tower, your costume waited for you at his place and you only needed to show up and have fun.

”You okay?” Bucky asked, popping the last rice krispie treat morsel into his mouth.

”It can’t be worse than last time,” you answered, gently sliding the lid onto the box of cupcakes.

”I wouldn’t be so sure. Stark ran around with a cape when I left.”

”Cape-? Oh.” Realizing just why someone would don a cape for a Rocky Horror viewing, you smiled like the Cheshire cat, stifling a snicker.

”What?” Bucky pouted at you. ”Come on, gimme something, I’ve resisted this long!”

Drawing in the corner of your lower lip to teasingly bite it, you gave Bucky a long look as if considering his request. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, intensifying when you slid over to him and got up on your toes. Lightning quick, you placed a kiss on his nose, gently patting his cheek as the hope waned and was replaced by mock-reproach.

”And what a good boy you’ve been.”

You grabbed your purse and headed for the exit, hearing Bucky grumble something that sounded suspiciously a lot like ”tease” behind you before picking up the cupcake box and following you. He kept giving you sideway glances all through the subway ride, a small smirk gracing his lips. It looked like he was planning something, and you hoped to god he wouldn’t try anything while balancing the baked goods with only one hand. Mercifully, he kept his hands and his intentions to himself.

Until you got to the tower.

Riding up the elevator felt a little less strange, getting scanned and greeting the AI felt almost normal. Bucky kept his eyes on you the entire ride, smile still in place and now taking on an almost predatory glint. It was new for him, more intense than his usual teasing. He would be smiles and low chuckles, not dark glances and a devilish quirk to his lips, though to be honest, this new side of him excited you. Tension lay heavy in the small, enclosed space, and you flinched when the elevator came to a halt and F.R.I.D.A.Y announced you were on the 85th floor. You had barely gotten into his apartment and set down your stuff before he cornered you, backing you up against the wall and enclosing you with his arms, laying teasing kisses along your neck and jaw.

”Bucky…” you sighed, gasping as he nipped along your pulse point.

He only gave a low growl in reply, nuzzling against you and bending his elbows to bring himself closer. His lips finally found yours, capturing you in a searing kiss that left you weak at the knees. Your own hands slid up his chest, curling into the material of Bucky’s shirt and holding on tight. As soon as the passionate kiss had started, he pulled back a fraction, allowing you to regain your composure. His face was still close, forehead resting against yours and his shallow breath fanned against your face.

”What… was that?” you panted, easing the grip on his shirt.

You had kissed before, it wasn’t that, but they had been quick little pecks, languid kisses that were more suction and intimacy than anything else. Nothing quite this passionate and breathtaking. Bucky let out a throaty chuckle, blue eyes meeting yours.

”I may have peeked at your costume before coming over…” he began his explanation.

”Wait, you peeked?” you interrupted, feigning outrage and bringing your hand to your chest to simulate clutching your pearls. ”Why, Bucky Barnes, you ch-”

”Hey!” Bucky silenced you with a quick kiss. ”I have never done this before, how was I supposed to know the hat was for you? I had to peek inside the bag!”

That got your attention.

”Wait, I have a hat?”

”I’m sure as hell ain’t supposed to wear the rest of it.”

You ducked out from under the cage Bucky’s created with his body, mind reeling a mile a minute. A hat? Last time you had watched Rocky Horror was a couple of years ago. Had they put the party hats and the noise makers and the rest of the props with the costumes already? But then why wouldn’t Bucky have one?

”Where?”

It was a one word question, but Bucky could extrapolate the rest, pointing towards his bedroom. Somehow, your steps were longer, or maybe the world sped up, because you made it into the room in seemingly no time, spotting the garment bags on the bed with a very conspicuous hat placed next to one of them.

_Wanda, why?_

”Columbia,” you breathed, equal parts awed and shocked.

Of all the characters in the movie, you had not expected Wanda to assign you Columbia. Maybe Janet, or Magenta, or hell, even one of the transylvanians. Columbia was loud, complex, up and down and absolutely amazing. Slowly, you pulled down the zipper on the garment bag, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. Part of you needed to confirm that this is actually happening, part of you was just childishly giddy at the prospect. Sure enough, a veritable explosion of sequins met your eyes. The gold tail coat to match the hat, the multicoloured top and shorts, the oversized bow tie, a pair of fine net stockings folded over the hanger, all looking to be exactly your size. Lifting the hat you found the studded tap shoes and the blue socks hidden under it.

”That’s sure to get you noticed…” came Bucky’s amused voice behind you.

”Gee, you think?” you countered, placing the hat on your head, a bit tilted to the left. ”Have you looked at yours?”

”Peeked,” he reminded you, walking up to you and pushing the hat back to center. ”Didn’t look too outrageous.”

A thought struck you. Doling out the roles, couples would most likely get movie couples. And if you were Columbia…

”Jeans? Black leather?”

Bucky picked up his garment bag, unzipping it and pulling on one side to reveal a pair of faded blue jeans, a leather vest, a plain black t-shirt and an assortment of accessories. You worried your lower lip, looking up and down the outfit. They had to make you Columbia and Eddie.

”Doll, what’s wrong?”

”Bucky, I don’t know who made this decision, but you should probably know one thing about this character…” Your heart clenched, the scene replaying in your mind. ”It might hit very close to home for you. And he… Things don’t go too well for him.”

”He die or somethin’?”

”I really don’t wanna spoil anything for you, but if you even feel the slightest need to leave at any point, you tell me, okay?”

”Sure,” Bucky shrugged his shoulders, giving you a smile that looked so excited.

”No, Bucky, you promise me,” you insisted, taking hold of his right hand. ”Promise me, okay?”

”I promise.” Bucky took hold of your other hand and brought both up to place kisses on your knuckles. ”Now will you help me with this getup? I’m assuming I’m supposed to wear it a certain way?”

The two of you set off, turning Bucky into Eddie. It was a fairly easy task, although he put up a lot of fake groaning when you started wrapping him in scarves, chains and mussing up his hair. You were almost thankful that you hadn’t brought any makeup, it saved you from having to draw on the forehead incision in red lipstick. The thought of how Bucky might react to that scene still lingered in your mind half an hour later when a series of short knocks sounded on the door. You were already on your way to open, when Bucky spoke ”confirm” and the door clicked, allowing Wanda to open and enter, hands clasped behind her back. At least that solved who would be the group’s Janet. Dressed in a prim, pink dress with a white cardigan and matching shoes, she looked nothing like she had during the Labor Day dinner or the visit at the shop. Wanda seemed to favour a smokey eye look, but for the part of Janet, she had forgone almost all makeup save for a modest coat of mascara.

”You’re not dressed yet?” She looked at you up and down, clearly expecting you to be a vision of sparkles already.

”He’s hopeless,” you replied with a crooked grin, nodding to Bucky. ”Grumpy Grandpa needed help dressing.”

”Hilarious,” Bucky quipped behind you.

”You don’t look half bad, Barnes,” Wanda commented, giving Bucky a once-over. ”Get your feet into these, and get down to the media room, I’ll stay and help your lovely Columbia get ready.” With that, she unclasped her hands, revealing a cowboy boot in each, tossing them over at Bucky.

He grumbled a bit in earnest this time, apparently he was not a fan of the shoes, but nevertheless crammed his feet into them and left, sneaking a quick kiss as he passed you. Wanda smiled softly when you turned to her.

”What?”

”It’s so nice to see him like this,” she offered. ”His mind has not been this calm in a while.”

”I just hope it will still be calm after tonight.”

”He’s got you. Now change, we’re starting in fifteen minutes!”

Wanda shooed you into the nearby bathroom, thrusting the garment bag and the shoes and socks into your arms. Much as you would have liked to take your time, Wanda had said fifteen minutes, and the sooner you got changed, the better, apparently. Shedding your clothes, you struggled to get the stockings on, cursing loudly as you almost tripped into the shower. Outside, Wanda snickered, and you sent a death glare towards the door, which was followed by an amused ”Sorry!”. The rest of the outfit was a lot easier to manage, and you were surprised by how well it fit, given that clothing sizes were notoriously unreliable. Bending and squatting to make sure you would be able to move relatively freely, you pulled on the socks and the shoes, doing a small twirl and looking at yourself in the mirror above the bathroom sink.

”Ta-da…” you whispered to yourself, taking in your appearance. All that was missing was the hat and a lot of pink blush.

As it happened, Wanda had thought of that. She nodded appreciatively when you walked out, handing you the hat to perch on your head before dragging you out of the apartment and to the elevator with barely enough time to pick up the pumpkin cupcakes. Her apartment was two floors below Bucky’s and you made a quick pitstop there to let her put the finishing touches on your look; thin eyebrows, pink blush and red lips. And, for some reason, a pair of scissors, which she tucked into one of the sorry excuses for pockets on your shorts.

”I look ridiculous,” you mused, looking at your reflection in the elevator’s glass walls.

”Just wait until you see Tony,” Wanda smirked, repositioning the discreet hair clip holding back a small portion of her curled hair.

”Bucky sort of warned me. Is he really..?”

”Oh, yes.”

You were thankful for the heads-up, because when you entered the media room with Wanda, you had to clasp your hand over your mouth. It was absolutely insane. You spotted Nat in a chair, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her red hair a tousled mess crowned by a maid’s bonnet. Next to her was a man you could only assume to be Clint, looking very much the part of Riff Raff with the skinniest pair of pants you had ever seen on a man, face painted gaunt and framed by stripey hair. That, however, was nothing compared to Tony.

”My groupie!” he greeted you magnanimously, striding towards you and Wanda in steps so long they defied logic, and you were suddenly very thankful to be holding the box of cupcakes because it meant avoiding what could only be a very awkward hug.

”Please do not call her that,” Bucky groaned, head popping up from a loveseat off to the left.

”Why am I not the least bit surprised, Dr. Frank-N-Furter,” you said, ignoring Bucky’s comment.

Tony gave a self-satisfied smile, shaking his head just enough to send the curls of his black wig afluttering. ”Hey, if we were gonna do this, we were gonna do it right, and let’s face it, I look the best in a dress out of all of us. No offense.”

”None taken,” Wanda quipped and stuck her tongue out at Tony, turning to take the box from your hands. ”I’ll take care of those. Go take a seat.”

”Aw, man, please tell me those were cupcakes” Sam whined as Wanda left the room.

”Yes, Sam, and I told Wanda she could have them all to herself,” you quipped, walking up to the loveseat.

Sam looked positively horrified at your jibe, and you could barely keep a straight face. Bucky’s eyes bulged as you plopped down next to him, crossing your legs and grimacing. The scissors were jamming into your thigh, and you pulled them out to prevent further injury.

”Wow. That’s… a lot more to take in in person.”

”It’ll all make sense. I promise.”

You took stock of the rest of the room, mentally doing a roll call as you went. Columbia and Eddie, check. Wanda and Vision as Janet and Brad, check. Natasha and Clint as Magenta and Riff Raff, check. Colonel Rhodes as Doctor Scott and Sam as the Criminologist, check. Stark as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, check, and… Ah. So that’s why Wanda had given you the scissors. Steve walked around looking like a mummy, and you blushed at the thought of what he’d experience in just a short while.

There were tables set out between the chairs and couches laden with snacks and drinks and props, and you couldn’t deny the excitement of getting to immerse yourself in this all over again, especially when the man next to you was a Rocky Horror virgin. Tony ushered Sam and Colonel Rhodes to their seats (or in the colonel’s case, instructing him to drive his wheelchair to his designated spot next to Tony’s chair). Wanda returned with four plates hovering around her, shrouded in red mist as she sent them to the tables where people hurried to make room for the plates.

”Everybody ready?” Tony called out, crossing his legs, revealing a glittering high heeled shoe.

A thundering ”yes!” echoed through the room, and Tony instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y to start the movie. You slid your hand into Bucky’s giving it a light squeeze accompanied by an encouraging smile that probably looked more like a grin with your makeup on. He nodded in response, only for his brows to knit together when the lips showed up.

”I’m not even gonna ask…” he mumbled quietly.

”Oh, this is nowhere near the worst.”

It certainly wasn’t. As it turned out, the Avengers were enthusiasts when it came to Rocky Horror. By the first subdued guitar licks for ”Time Warp”, Natasha and Clint were already on their feet, animatedly acting out the scene as it played behind them. When the chorus hit, absolute mayhem broke out, with Steve and Bucky watching in mild terror as their friends danced along, Sam leading them in his role as the Criminologist. You had never tap danced a day in your life, but you still did an improvised little number during Columbia’s solo, shooting Bucky a wicked little wink as he shook his head.

”What the hell is this?” he groaned when Nat tried to pull him up onto the floor for the last chorus.

”It’s easiest if you just roll with it, Buck,” Steve called out over the music and singing, doing the smallest pelvic thrust you’d ever seen.

It only got worse from there on. Steve all but shrunk into his mummy bindings when Tony decided to go all out in ”Sweet Transvestite”, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t an image that would forever be etched into your memory. As the exuberant billionaire shed his cloak to reveal the risqué attire underneath, you heard Bucky snort before he leaned over to Sam.

”We can get someone to film this right?”

”Way ahead of you,” Sam replied, and they shared a look that obviously meant something because both of them broke down into snickers.

You wanted to ask what they meant, but you were interrupted by Tony who pulled you and Nat up to complete the scene amongst shrieks and wolfwhistles. At this point, Bucky wasn’t the only one to have his face permanently plastered to his hands, both Wanda and Colonel Rhodes sported the same stance, while Clint was trying not to suffocate from laughing so hard.

”Damn it, Stark, who knew you had the legs to pull that off!” he huffed when Tony strutted back to his seat.

”What do you think goes on inside that suit, Barton?” Tony retorted quickly, scooching to sit sideways with his legs dangling off the arm rests. ”Lots and lots of clenching.”

A chorus of groans followed, and to your delight, Vision even looked a bit embarrassed at his creator’s absolute lack of a mental filter. There was little time to recover as Steve’s big moment approached. Amidst tooting blowouts and swinging noisemakers around, Natasha caught your gaze with a sly grin and a snip of her own pair of scissors. Steve himself seemed blessedly oblivious of his fate until the music started and Natasha, with surprising ease, pulled Steve onto the floor.

”You might wanna hold onto something…” you whispered to Bucky before getting up to join his friends.

”Okay, what do I do?” Steve asked with an exaggerated sigh, expecting another silly dance routine.

”You stand absolutely still,” Natasha leered, bringing out her scissors.

You did the same, and Steve’s eyes bulged in horror. For a second he looked like he was ready to make a run for it, no doubt able to outrun the both of you even if he was all wrapped up, but Natasha quickly stepped in front of him, snipping her scissors like a weapon. Amid loud protests and shrill whooping from the crowds, Steve’s mummy bindings were slowly but surely sheared and unraveled from his form.

”Buck, come on, you don’t want to see what’s under here!” Steve pleaded with his friend, who sat with the widest, most shit-eating grin ever on his face.

”Aw, come on, Stevie. It’s easiest if you just roll with it,” Bucky parroted with poorly disguised glee.

Clearly, he was not ready for the tiny golden hot pants that left very little to the imagination. You had to look away, quickly making your way back to Bucky, while Nat remained with Steve on the floor, gesturing exaggeratedly at supersoldier, who was blushing from the crown of his head down to the tips of his toes, trying to cover his goldclad bits.

”You’re making it worse!” Tony hollered, laughing so hard he was starting to tear up, causing his makeup to slowly start melting down his face.

”I hate you all,” Steve grumbled, plodding back to his seat and hesitating before falling into the chair and promptly crossing his legs.

”Jeez, I haven’t seen that much of you since probably ever,” Bucky teased, his words coming out slightly distorted from biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing too hard.

Tony was still laughing by the time ”I Can Make You A Man” started, and seeing Steve still blushing beet red was enough to send him into another laughing fit that lasted him through the song. As funny as it was, you knew what would follow, and you gently nudged Bucky’s side. He turned to you, looking almost grateful to take a break from Steve’s counterpart flexing onscreen.

”It’s gonna happen right after this. Hold my hand. If you need to leave, you leave. I’ll come with you.”

Bucky only nodded, moving his right arm from around your shoulders to take your hand. He preemptively tensed. The light blinked, Columbia shrieked. This had always been one of your favourite scene; Meatloaf, the rock'n'roll music, the dancing. Looking at it now, it seemed all the more violent and tasteless. Looking around, everyone were enjoying themselves. Wanda was talking animatedly under her breath with Vision, Tony still looked like he was about to suffocate. Steve had calmed down a bit, returning to normal colour, and Natasha… You could practically see realization hit her, followed by an immediate glance in your direction. The two of you shared a look, silently communicating that you both knew what would happen to Eddie and how fucked up it was to have Bucky dressed up as him.

The man himself actually smiled, his head nodding along to the upbeat music as Eddie and Columbia danced. There was a slight line of worry between his eyebrows, smoothing out with every second. Maybe he thought the crude cryostasis chamber was the worst of it. You barely managed a convincing smile when he turned to you, and it quickly turned to surprise when he got up, and insistently tugged at you to follow.

”Come on, doll. Haven’t had a dance in decades.”

You wanted to decline, to ask him to sit down, or even better, take a very timely break for whatever ridiculous reason. But his smile was so genuine, so full of joy and playfulness, there was no way to resist. He lit up when you followed, letting his left arm rest lightly on the small of your back while his right hand held your left. Gently, Bucky started leading you in time with the song, mostly side to side throughout saxophone interlude. As it transitioned into the second verse, his confidence had grown and his muscle memory started kicking in, and he started twirling you around the floor, accompanied by loud whoops and a whistle that sounded like it could have come from Steve.

”You ready?” he asked, a wolfish grin spreading on his face.

”For what?”

”Dancing. Like they did.” Bucky nodded to the screen behind him.

There was no time to answer, as Bucky moved his left arm to grasp your right hand, giving you a push outward only to bring you back in again, mimicking Eddie’s and Columbia’s dance moves from the first chorus. Another roar rose around you, and Sam loudly praised the fact that you weren’t copying the lewd floor choreography going on onscreen. You kept your eyes on Bucky, smiling and laughing and spinning around, the gnawing feeling in your stomach giving way to butterflies. This was okay. This was fun.

Until a loud ”Oh, shit” broke through the loud hollering. Briefly breaking eye contact, you let your gaze flit over to the screen, seeing Dr. Frank-N-Furter disappear into the freezer. Bucky, thankfully, had his back to the screen, forehead creasing when he saw your worried expression. He made a move to turn around, but you yanked at his arms, fervently shaking your head. The instinct to protect him from this shot through you like fire, crackling along your skin. Your costume all of a sudden felt too tight, the sequins digging into your flesh.

”Don’t look,” you begged Bucky, and he stopped dancing, letting you crowd close to him.

One by one the cheering of the group silenced. Even though his serum-enhanced hearing would probably pick up on it anyway, you still brought your hands up to Bucky’s ears, pressing gently over them as if that would completely cancel out the loud screams. You held his gaze, wordlessly imploring him to keep his focus on you, to ignore what was going on behind him, that he was okay, that everything would be fine. Bucky didn’t fight you, dutifully kept his eyes locked on you, although you could see his eyes twitching, picking up on the ruckus made by the characters in the movie.

The room abruptly fell silent. Someone had had the good sense of stopping the movie, and your hands slowly slid down onto Bucky’s shoulders. A quick glance to the left revealed the person responsible to be Natasha. Next to her, Steve sat at the edge of his seat, muscles tensed and glaring daggers at Tony, who looked like he’d been slapped in the face. Your eyes shot back to Bucky, and although he was spring-coil tense, he looked relatively calm, almost worried as he scanned your face, asking you to confirm everything was okay. Letting out a breath, you gave a small nod, and felt the muscles under your hands start to relax.

”I am regretting every casting decision I made for this,” Tony moaned, his voice muffled by his hands shielding his face.

”This was your doing?” you exclaimed, perhaps a bit more accusatory than intended. ”Jeez, Stark, how long has it been since you saw Rocky Horror?”

”Too long, obviously, and oh my god, I’m glad we stopped it here. Things would have gotten a lot more awkward later on.”

”Guys, I’m… I’m fine,” Bucky interjected, looking at Tony and Steve in particular.

”You sure, Buck?” Steve asked, his demeanor guarded and the embarrassment of his outfit clearly forgotten.

Bucky didn’t get to answer, as Tony stood up, throwing his hands into the air.

”I’m pulling the plug on this. I won’t make it through the bedroom switcheroo.”

There were a few half-hearted groans, but no one ardently protested. Slowly, people got up and started clearing the tables, gathering props into a pile on one of them. Bucky shot Sam a pointed look as the other man piled as much candy and snacks onto a plate, topping it with several of your cupcakes. Sam shrugged his shoulders.

”Hey, it’s not like she’ll take them back.” He quickly looked over at you. ”You won’t right? 'Cause if so, you’ll have to chase me.”

”Take as many as you want, Sam.”

”Can I get that in writing? Wait, no, can you repeat that and look up into that corner. And, you know, enunciate.”

Pointing upwards, you spotted something hovering in the shadowy corner, a faint red light flickering. Turning to Sam, he looked at you with a wide grin, holding up his hand to Bucky for a high five.

”Is that…”

”He’s called Redwing. And he’s seen everything. Say hi.”

”Don’t say hi,” Bucky advised you, shaking his head for emphasis.

”Come on, he doesn’t bite. Does have tranq darts though.”

”And we’re leaving.”

Sam laughed behind you as Bucky took your hand and set off at a brisk walk, feigning consternation. You barely had time to snatch a plate of cupcakes for the two of you, figuring that if nothing else, a sweet treat wouldn’t hurt. Bucky may say he was fine, but for all you knew it could have been a lie to make his friends feel a bit better. The ride up to the apartment was quiet, with furtive glances to assess whether you should expect an emotional outburst. His facial features revealed nothing, neither smile, nor frown.

Back inside the apartment, you expected something to change. This was a safe space, no one here but you and Bucky. He’d been vulnerable with you before, surely he’d feel comfortable enough to show if the incident in the media room had been too much. Nothing. He toed off the boots, kicking them with perhaps a little more force than necessary before shrugging off the vest.

”Bucky?” you asked furtively, setting down the plate of cupcakes on the kitchen counter.

”Hmm?”

”You okay? The… It was…”

”Doll, I’m fine, I promise,” he insisted, coming up to embrace you, smiling to show you just how okay he was. ”It was just a movie, right?”

You nodded mutely. He looked fine. Said he was fine. Maybe this was a step forward? Not getting spooked by the smallest parallel to his days as the Winter Soldier. You returned his smile, fumbling behind you for a cupcake, offering it to him with an imploring glance. Bucky accepted the treat, peeling off the bright orange wrapper with great care, earning an eyeroll from you as you took a cupcake for yourself and more or less ripped the wrapper loose, digging into the sweet, rich cake, not caring that the whipped topping smudged on your nose. Two could play the silly-game. Bucky gave a barking laugh, following suit, if somewhat more carefully. Didn’t do him good in the topping-department, and he, too, got a small smudge of frosting smeared on the tip of his nose. You got up on your toes to kiss it away, but Bucky quickly set his right index finger on your lips.

”Me first.”

With a slight pout, you lowered yourself, Bucky following until his lips touched your nose, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick away most of the frosting. A giggle escaped you, blood rushing to your cheeks and down into your belly as he gave another quick kiss to clean up the remaining frosting. You quickly followed, darting forward to kiss away his own mess, needing only one kiss to clear the smudge. It was a perfectly lovely and cheesy moment, and for a second you actually thought you were in the clear.

”What happened to me?” Bucky suddenly asked, still munching on his cupcake. Seeing your concern he gestured to what remained of his outfit. ”To my character.”

”You don’t have to do this, Bucky…”

”I want to. You know I’ll just google it otherwise.”

Swallowing hard, you considered it. The plot, as detailed as you pleased, could easily be found, and in text, things tended to come off so cold and off-handed. Maybe telling him was better. You could control the words, the amount of details, gauge his reaction, stop if things got too hard.

”Dr. Frank-N-Furter killed him,” you divulged, keeping a careful eye on him.

”I gathered as much. Why did Eddie get killed?”

”Jealousy. Rocky looked like he was enjoying himself, and Frank-N-Furter didn’t want to share him.”

”Why did he come out of- out of that thing?” Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, no doubt remembering his own time spent in cryostasis.

”Eddie used to… work for Frank-N-Furter. I don’t really remember what happened, or if they even went into the story of why, but he’s in there, and Rocky has half his brain.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and then burst out laughing. The reaction startled you as much as it confused you. This was far from the reaction you had anticipated, and you had left out the grizzlier details like the ice pick and Eddie ending up dinner for the rest of the characters.

”So you’re saying Rocky has half my brain?” Bucky managed between laughs, his shoulders shaking.

You nodded, not bothering to correct his statement to point out that Eddie, not Bucky had half a brain.

”Oh, god, that explains why Steve has even a little common sense and why I can’t remember jack shit.”

There was a beat of silence before the both of you dissolved into giggles and laughter. Tony may have failed spectacularly over all in the casting of the Avengers as Rocky Horror characters, but in this instance, he’d actually managed to make the perfect choice for Eddie and Rocky. The image of Steve Rogers, blushing in tiny golden booty shorts, brought on another laughing fit, and when Bucky quirked his eyebrows at you, you could only manage to wheeze out ”Steve..!” before breaking down in laughter, tears welling at the corners of your eyes. Bucky groaned as he was reminded of his best friend’s outfit, muttering how a wipe would not be completely unwelcome right now.

”Shit, I must look an absolute mess,” you huffed, wiping away the tears and seeing the smears of blush and eye shadow staining your fingers.

”You look like you’ve had a good time,” Bucky protested, catching you by your waist as you moved to go to the bathroom to wash away the makeup.

”I did,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. ”Did you?”

”Yeah. Surprisingly so. Dancing was fun. I used to- Steve told me I used to love it. Don’t remember all of it, but there are snippets, I guess, fragments.”

There was something soft in his expression, as if reliving these moments, remembering fondly what could be accessed in his shattered mind. You still maintained, and would do so for the rest of your life, that you were no dancer, but if you could do this one thing for him, make him happy in any small way, you’d do it. Heaving a sigh, you dabbed again at your eyes, then held out your right hand to him.

”Would you do me the honor?”

His mouth split into an impossibly bright smile, settling gracefully into position with you.

”F.R.I.D.A.Y?” he spoke, keeping his eyes on you.

” _Yes, mr. Barnes?”_

”Do you have access to the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack?”

” _I have access to multiple recordings of the soundtrack, including several live recordings. Which one would you like me to select from?”_

”Official soundtrack,” you interjected helpfully.

” _Very well, miss. Which song?”_

Bucky grinned at you.  ”Hot Patootie.”


	6. Sleepless In The Big Apple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer than anticipated, things have been busy with work and I honestly have no idea where my weekends have gone. The angst is back, and I did my best dealing with a tough subject. I am no expert in dealing with dissociation, I have never experienced a severe case of it, and what’s depicted in this chapter is based on advice I have found while researching.
> 
> Enjoy

_Apple:_ _the usually round, red or yellow, edible fruit_ _of the Malus pumila-tree. Apple pairs well with raisins, brown sugar, allspice, almonds and pecans._

* * *

 

Bucky was struggling. He knew it, he knew you knew it. It was pretty damn hard to miss. For a couple of months things had been going so well, his efforts had been so promising. Steadily, he started sleeping in longer increments, the number of times he woke up screaming or flailing because of a nightmare steadily decreasing. It elated him, the way he could feel his mind settling, the trickle of broken memories no longer so scary and disheartening. Bucky would seek out contact with you more. Longer hugs, stealing kisses, holding your hand, accustoming his body to touch and intimacy. He’d been doing so good.

Until he wasn’t.

The nightmares returned with a vengeance after he stumbled back into the tower at 4 am one morning in December. He had barely let his eyes flutter close before he was falling, the icy cold crushing him, pain shooting through his every limb. It was the first time _in almost a year_ that Steve had to come running to calm him down. He couldn’t get his heart to slow down, couldn’t regulate his breathing, couldn’t ground himself. Fractured words in the language he had come to despise echoed through his mind, enticing him to _slip, fall, conform_.

He knew he should continue working, continue trying. But Steve’s frantic voice coaxing him back to himself, the ripped sheets on his left side, the cold sweat that kept pushing through his pores even after he’d stood in the shower for a good half hour, it all screamed at him. Bucky reverted, falling back on old, proven methods. Cat naps, coffee, getting by. He stayed away the first three days after the nightmare, calling you with a lie about him going to the compound for a couple of days. There was a stab in his heart as he listened to you wishing him a safe trip.

” _Be back soon, okay?”_ you prompted him, trying to hide your disappointment.

”As soon as I can.”

He swore it was the last time he lied to you.

_But it was so easy._

He spent most of the three days in the gym, working himself into the ground, hating the serum for boosting his stamina, his metabolism, his _everything_ to the point where he couldn’t get truly and utterly exhausted. On his second day he briefly met Wanda, and it took her all of five seconds to put together the pieces from his frantic mind. She called out after him, and Bucky ignored her, rushing back to his room where he locked himself away behind security measures and self-loathing.

When he had finally made it back to Brooklyn, he looked like shit, and he’d broken his promise.  You had noticed immediately, eyebrows quirking in a silent _”Are you okay?”_ the second he stepped foot inside the shop. He had forced a tired smile, kissing the top of your head. Yeah, he was fine. Rough stay, didn’t get much sleep, it’s nothing to worry about. You had looked at him, taking in every single feature that revealed just how much bullshit he was spewing, but accepted his story and went back to taking out trays of cupcakes to the front. Bucky’d squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t deserve you.

The universe seemed to agree. It piled crap upon crap on him. His body had gotten used to more sleep, and kicked up a fuss when he all of a sudden went back to the barest minimum of shuteye. He felt sluggish, as if his veins were laced with lead, his mind in a contant state of mild disorientation. People started noticing. Steve gave him a long look when a mission came up and he didn’t back out. Wanda walked around with a frown permanently etched between her eyebrows whenever she saw him, her eyes begging him to let her help. Sam tried to talk to him. Bucky got real good at ignoring him. He could handle that. Business as usual.

Then you noticed.

You noticed, and he hated the dance you did where you both pretended everything was fine. Bucky couldn’t comprehend why you didn’t ask, didn’t prod, didn’t call him out. The most he’d gotten from you was a flash of sadness when he came in one night, foregoing the prep, shoulders slumped and asking for a coffee. It was there, and then it was gone, and in its place was an expression he couldn’t quite place. His heart broke a little bit more.

It went on for a few more visits. Bucky walked around on eggshells, fearing that his world would come crashing down at any minute, that he would break, that you would finally reach your limit. Everytime he returned home brought on dual waves of relief and guilt; he still had you, his life was still in one piece, but it was pretend. He finally acknowledged the exhaustion that came not from physical exertion, but the struggle to keep himself alert and with a semblance of control. It claimed him one night, and the horrors jumped at the chance, picking him apart limb by limb, memory by memory. At least Bucky managed to calm down on his own, and he avoided the rest of his team the following day.

Of course he knew this couldn’t last forever, much as he sometimes wished it. He could only hold on for so long, and when his grip finally failed, he was almost glad it did. Circumstances colluded to cook up the perfect storm for him to break down in. He’d thrown himself into another mission, desperate to get something he could focus on, only to have it be more taxing than he could ever have anticipated. Winter had slowly crept into the city in earnest, cold gusts of wind daring past the cuffs of his coat, chilling him to the bone and setting off a dull ache in his left shoulder. He hated winters, hated the name, the chill, the numbing effects it had on the world. Everything washed down, whited out, footsteps muted or reduced to a crunching that jarred his ears. It hit too close to home.

”Are you okay?”

He was already late and he’d barely gotten through the door before the question hit him. No, he was not okay, but Bucky wasn’t about to tell you that, wasn’t about to divulge how he’d slept a grand total of one, maybe two hours in the last two days, didn’t want to linger on the uneasy feeling that festered in his body if he so much as relaxed and closed his eyes. It made napping hell, made his life hell. He didn’t want to inflict it upon you. Shuffling over to you, he held out his arms, begging for a hug he truthfully felt he had no right to ask for. You seemed to relax somewhat at his initiative, setting down the coffee pot to embrace him.

_I don’t deserve this._

”You okay?” you asked again, cheek nuzzling against his neck.

He hummed noncommittally. ”Just hate winter.”

Not strictly a lie. Just evasion. Standard ops parameters. Proceed with caution.

_No._

_Wait. This was not- He can’t be-_

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. He was through with this. The programming was broken, he couldn’t be unmade again. HYDRA had no pull over him anymore. _”Except in your dreams…”_ a small voice in his mind taunted him. He held you closer for just a second longer, breathing in the scent of you; vanilla and warmth, so heady, yet so incredibly grounding.

”I’ll get you a coffee,” you mumbled, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

He wanted to say no, to deny himself, but he needed to stay sharp. The cup slid into his view, steam rising and the enticing scent of coffee teasing his nostrils, the liquid so dark he could almost see his reflection distorted in the slight sloshing. Bucky knew he should just bite the bullet, start over, get back on track, but he never seemed to be able to remember how he got started in the first place or even how far he’d gotten. Not a full night, that much he was sure of. Did he still scream? Was… Steve was there sometimes, for the really bad ones. This was bad, Bucky thought to himself. He should remember more, he hated the gaps he already had in his memory, he was just so exhausted, he should sleep more.

_Oh. Right._

The coffee barely envigorated him, instead settling like an electrical current running through his veins. His muscles all felt twitchy, clenching and unclenching to release the tension building from the caffeine trying to do its job. All the while, you puttered about, serving customers and bringing out more cupcakes, gently scooting one next to his cup before giving his right hand a gentle squeeze. It felt… off. Bucky couldn’t put his finger on what, but something was wrong. Like… he was wrapped in cotton, his senses dulled. The buzz of the customers talking, spoons clinking against plates and cups, it was more like a muted murmur, just like your touch felt like you had touched him while wearing thick gloves, unable to grab hold of him.

An hour of coffee-fueled jitters later, his mind comes to a reeling stop when an all too frightening thought snuck to the front of his mind. _What if this is not real?_ Everything was dulled, something felt off, he couldn’t remember- he couldn’t- His heart beat thundered in his ears, cold sweat chilling his skin. _What if this isn’t real?_ You were there. But… he’d dreamed of you before. What was that thing Sam had told him? Months ago, he’d reluctantly talked to Sam about his nightmares, about taking control, of tricks to know whether your dreaming or not. His mind draws blank after blank, and the thundering in his ears got even louder.

”Bucky?”

His head snapped up to meet your gaze, and the worry displayed so clearly on your face made him look over his shoulder to make sure it’s safe. The shop is empty, a couple of mugs still left on a table to the far right, the street outside empty and dark. It should have been enough for Bucky to relax, but the tension and creeping fear won’t let him relax, hands fitfully wringing until the metal of his left felt hot against his right. Movement in the corner of his eyes caused him to flinch away, only to realize it was you, hand  still midair as you meant to reach out to touch. He swallowed, forcing himself back, trying to sit still while you slowly let your hands come up to touch his stubbled chin.

”Bucky, are you ok?”

Soft. So, so soft. A layer of that strange cottonlike sensation between you. He blinked, tried to find something to hold onto, to ground him.

”Hey, are you with me? Look at me.”

His eyes found yours, the worry in them now mixed with quiet determination, your hand still resting against his cheek. He needed to sleep, he knew as much. Sleep meant he could be better, could be all he wanted to be for you, could keep you safe and out of harm’s way. He should sleep. Why couldn’t he remember how he’d learned to sleep? Why couldn’t he remember what Sam had said about dreams?

_…because you never remember how dreams start_

It rang through him, clear as a bell; that small voice that persisted in feeding his guilt now pulling out a piece of advice from the conversation with Sam and Bucky instantly froze. Was this all a dream? Would he wake up and realize it had only been a couple of hours and not months of kisses and cupcakes and learning to be better? His eyes flitted over your face, briefly taking in the surroundings. If he was dreaming, it was probably a nightmare. He should know this setup, should already feel the tendrils of terror and panic in anticipation of the horrors that haunted his sleep.

”What is your name?”

Your voice seemed sharper, more defined when you spoke, and Bucky realized it was because you sounded as determined as you looked, almost stern. He zeroed in on you again, struggling to make his voice heard.

”I-I’m… James B-Buchanan Barnes. B-Bucky.”

A small smile graced your lips, and you nodded encouragingly at him.

”I… I think I’m dreaming,” he managed, heart stinging as he saw the smile on your lips die.

”You’re not dreaming, Bucky.”

”I-I can’t… I can’t remember…”

His voice hitched and he heard you swear under your breath. The hand on his chin was pulled back and you moved like lightning to his weary eyes. _There._ It was as if he had a built-in radar, a blip going off, sending a shiver down his spine. If the horrible things came now, at least he’d wake up right? Bucky distantly heard a faint click, followed by rushing footsteps.

”Come on. I’m closing down for the night. We’ll go upstairs, okay? Just you and me.”

A hand, the grip strong and sure, grasped his right hand, squeezing it lightly before dragging him out of his seat. Bucky followed you numbly, barely noticing the lights being turned dowm behind him or you coaxing him up the stairs and through the door. You stayed tethered to him, not daring to let go of the physical connection, dragging him across the seemingly vast livingroom via the kitchen and into your bedroom. As you gently pushed him down on to the bed, something poked at him, a sensation of _I shouldn’t be in here._ A little more maneuvering had the two of you sitting crosslegged on the bed, facing each other.

”Can you feel my hand?” you asked, your face illuminated in the dim light that peeked in from the windows.

”Yes.” His voice sounded so detached and flat to his own ears, and Bucky cringed.

”Can you feel this?”

You slowly eased out of the grasp, turning his hand gently palm up. Something cold was pressed into it, and Bucky hissed, snatching his hand away from it, breaking the touch. Looking down, he saw your hand, holding a cube of ice that glinted dully, already melting from your warm touch. Hesitantly, you held out your other hand, beckoning him to trust you, to let you try. It felt so real. Bucky wanted to feel it again. He carefully laid his hand on top of yours again, waiting.

”Your name,” you said, voice soothing as you slowly and deliberately placed the ice cube in his palm, ”is James Barnes. Your friends call you Bucky. You’re in Brooklyn, in my apartment. You’re 99 years old, but I swear you don’t look a day over 80.”

Bucky let out a huff at that. He was old. Didn’t look it, but some days he felt every one of those 99 years. Water was beginning to pool in his palm as the cube melted from his body heat, and you started moving it around his palm, up over his wrist as you pushed up the sleeves of his sweater.

”Your best friend’s name is Steve Rogers. You…” You bit your lip, the slow movements of the ice on his skin briefly halting. ”You were held captive for many years, but you’re free now. You kissed me in my kitchen eight months, two weeks and… three days ago. And yes, I keep count.”

You moved the ice along his skin in slow, methodical patterns, talking all the while. Bucky stayed focused on your every word, letting the cold bite of the shrinking ice cube and all the little snippets you provided him with ground him. Today’s date, little tidbits about his life, a cupcake you had really looked forward to making, but didn’t have enough brown sugar of all things to make a large batch.

Soon enough, the ice had completly melted, leaving you tracing along his skin with your fingertips. You still talked, but it was less constant. The room would be quiet save for sound of steady breaths, Bucky would look at the way your fingers moved, enjoying the slight scraping of your nails. The silence would only be punctuated by a short statement, another memory or piece of trivia that he could remember. You never remembered how a dream started, how you got to that point in the dream. He remembered past trying to fix his sleeping pattern. He remembered scrawny Steve, Dugan’s snoring, the icy terror of cryo, bigger Steve and the night he came into your shop. He was awake. Still exhausted, but very much awake.

”Thank you…” he mumbled, watching as your hand twitched minutely at the sound of his voice.

”No problem.” Your fingers dragged down until your palms met, clasping gently.

”I should… I should get going.”

He moved fast, out of the bed and halfway to the door before you had time to speak.

”Bucky, I know you’re not sleeping again.”

Of course you knew. Tonight was apparently the night you both stopped pretending you didn’t. Bucky let out a heavy breath, slowly turning to look at you. You were still sitting on the bed, making no move yet to follow him. He could probably leave, and you wouldn’t chase him, possily wouldn’t blame him, at least not much. But… He owed you more.

”I’m… coping,” he decided, wanting to stick as close to the truth as possible.

”No.”

”What?”

”You’re not coping, Bucky,” you elaborated, pulling your legs closer to you. ”You’re… I don’t even know what you’re doing anymore. You zoned out for almost an hour downstairs, and then started dissociating. You need to sleep.”

”I can’t.” He wanted to leave it at that, but the way you looked at him, so pleading, like you wanted to demand he say more, but holding back to give him the option to volunteer information of his own volition. _Damn_. ”If I sleep, I-”

”Nightmares?”

Bucky nodded mutely. ”I’ve gone through more bedding in the last month than the rest of the tower go through in a year. Or so Tony said.”

Finally, you slid off the bed, padding up to him with arms open. He accepted the hug, the soothing warmth of your body against his. He missed this, no half-lies between you. There was no doubt what would come next, and Bucky hated that he’d have to let you down.

”I… I should go downstairs, clear away the cupcakes at least,” you began, your face buried against his chest. ”Why don’t you lie down, rest for a bit?”

”I can’t sleep,” Bucky repeated, sliding his hands over your arms and up to your shoulders, gingerly pushing you off his chest so he could look at you.

”I didn’t say-”

”Please, doll, I know you meant it. I know you want me to get better, I do, too, but… I don’t know that I’ll ever be fine. I’m afraid of what I’ll see when I close my eyes, okay? I-I can’t turn into- into _him_ anymore, but I still have memories of him. People I killed, the things they did to me. It’s bleeding together. Sometimes I dream that I kill the people I love.”

He didn’t say it outright, but he could tell you understood. There had been nights, the worst kind, when he’d woken up screaming because his dreams had consisted of stalking you, firing off a bullet aimed at your head while his true self was trapped in the body of the Soldier.

”You know I don’t think you’d ever hurt me…” you began, and there was so much love and trust in your words, Bucky could feel himself fall apart.

”I have ripped sheets and covers to shred, and they never did me anything. Of course I don’t want to hurt you, never, but I can’t… I would not trust myself to sleep anywhere near you. Sometimes, it… takes me a while to wake up properly.”

He shuddered at the thought of Steve having to talk him down from a particularly intense nightmare the other week, how his heart had almost thundered out of his chest, the sensation of falling, endlessly falling, lasting for fifteen painstaking minutes before fading. He didn’t want to do that to you, didn’t want you to see him like that. Looking at you, Bucky found you avoiding his gaze, biting lightly at your lower lip.

”I still think you should lie down,” you persisted. ”Not sleep, if you don’t want to. I don’t like it, but I can’t force you. I don’t want you to leave this soon after… you know. Please, just lie down while I clean up in the shop.”

”I could help you,” Bucky offered, not particularly keen on the idea despite his body screaming at him to heed your plea.

”You’ve had a rough night as is. I’ll be quick, I promise. I’ll come up the second I’m done and if you feel better, you can… go home if you want to.”

He’d disappointed you enough to last him a lifetime. Maybe he could give you this. You said he didn’t have to sleep, and he wouldn’t, but he could rest, let his body recover a little. Riding the subway back would be hard enough. Bucky nodded, leaning to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

”Take the bed,” you said when he stood hesitating, glancing at the door opening and the couch barely visible from the angle he was standing at. ”I… I like the way you smell. If my pillow smells like you, at least one of us will sleep well tonight.”

A cheeky smile spread on your lips, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile in kind. He rotated, bringing his back against the bed and yours against the door before backing until his shins met the edge of the bed. You looked at him demonstratively until he sat down, toeing off his boots and swinging his legs up to lie prone on the bed, legs stretched out and slightly parted with his hands clasped on his chest.

”I’ll be right back,” you promised again, blowing him a little kiss before sneaking out.

Bucky barely heard the door click shut, the sound of your footsteps down the stairs dull thuds that grew quieter and quieter. He strained his ears, trying to hear you bustling downstairs, desperate for something to focus on. No sleep. Absolutely no sleep. A light draft hit his right arm, causing goosebumps to rise. The shudder that followed was not so much a sign that he actually felt cold, more an automatic reaction his body remembered. You should get your windows fixed, he thought to himself, you only had one decent cover to keep yourself warm with for god’s sake.

Remembering what you’d said about liking the way he smelled, Bucky gathered the cover, bunching up the pillows under his head and held everything close to him, letting his warmth radiate into the bedding. He could do this small thing for you, ease your mind a little. He’d be fine, sort of. He’d be as fine as he’d ever get, which would probably never be as fine as he wanted, but he’d make do. He’d survive. Bucky burrowed his head into your pillow, drawing in the scent of you. Warm vanilla, just like you’d described him, with crisp notes of something fruity, your shampoo maybe. It was a good scent, soft and safe. He’d never be able to fabricate this. This was real. This was-

”Bucky?”

Fingers running through his hair. He knew that voice.

”Five more minutes…”

”You sure?”

He burrowed his head further into his pillow. So soft. Didn’t used to be that soft. Who cares. Five more minutes. Maybe this time Becca wouldn’t launch herself like a freaking circus act at him… Turning over, he exhaled, relaxing into the mattress. Drifting off was easy, his body and mind welcoming it. It felt like floating for a while, resting comfortably, cradled in something soft and warm. Then all of a sudden, the vastness he rested in started closing in, pressure building over his chest, something threatening to burst forth and he knew exactly what it was.

_Please don’t._

His arms felt heavy, weighed down, glued to his sides. Restrained. Tied down like an animal.

_Please, please…_

Surroundings began taking shape, the softness fading away to dark colours, to a dingy room, to threatening cables and cuffs digging into his wrists and something descending on him.

Bucky started awake, tangled in sheets, sweat beading on his forehead. For a second, he felt disoriented, unable to settle, lost and confused. Then-

”Bucky..?”

His head snapped to his left, where you lay next to him, a pillow bunched under your head. You blinked sleepily, regarding him with quiet anticipation as he began to make sense of his situation. His body and mind had finally caved in on him, forcing him into that which he had fought to avoid. A shudder ripped through him as he recalled the unsettling sensation of losing grip on reality. You’d brought him out of it, not once afraid or intimidated.

”Nightmare?” you asked, suppressing a yawn.

He nodded, disentangling from the covers that had surely been the source of the restrained sensation from his dream.

”Y-you slept here?”

”My bed. I tried to wake you up, but you wanted to sleep, and I… I thought I’d let you sleep. I meant to take the couch, I just wanted to, I don’t know, sit with you a while and I must’ve dozed off.”

”I didn’t… I didn’t hurt you?” Bucky’s eyes skittered over you, looking for any sign of injury, heart skipping a beat when he realized you’d slept on his left side, so dangerously close to his metal arm.

”Far as I know you slept okay.”

His self-doubt had to be written all over his face. You made a big show of pushing up the sleeves of your arms, stretching your neck and pulling down the neckline to show nothing but patches of unblemished skin. Bucky couldn’t help but blush a little, unable to deny the part of him that would love nothing more than to see more of you, map out your body with his hands. He reined himself in, biting down and quickly avoiding your gaze.

”You shouldn’t have- I could’ve hurt you,” he muttered reproachfully, clenching his left fist.

”You didn’t. Bucky, please, look at me.” You sounded so awake all of a sudden, and he was helpless against your plea.

Your hair was rumpled, sleepiness still evident in your features, despite the resolute expression in your eyes. How long had you slept? Knowing his own limits, Bucky gave a faint wince. You should still be sleeping, and he’d woken you up.

”I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I know you’re worried. But… it happened. It happened and you slept okay.” He gave you a pointed look. ”Mostly okay. You said you’ve destroyed sheets and whatnot from your nightmares, right? Nothing’s ripped. I’m not hurt.”

Bucky shook his head. ”Doesn’t mean it will always be like that. Come on, you must be tired still. I’ll… take the couch.”

”Or you could stay.”

”I don’t want to-”

”And you didn’t!” you interjected again.

”I know, but I could’ve. Please, doll, I don’t trust myself. This was a lucky break. I don’t wanna push it and do something I’ll regret for the rest of my god damn life.”

He brought up his right hand to caress your cheek, butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you leaned into his touch. He’d been a regular shitshow last night, hell, for the past month or so, and you still loved him, trusted him and his touch. Leaning in to give you a quick kiss, Bucky crawled out of bed to go lie down on the couch, a safe distance away from you. You attempted to pout him back to you, but he only gave you a stern look in return that he hoped conveyed his message of you needing more sleep. The exaggerated sigh he heard as he padded across the living room floor served as your surrender, and seconds later, covers were pulled and sheets ruffled as you turned over.

Lying down on the couch, Bucky wondered how long he’d actually slept. The digital clock on the microwave told him it was just past 5.30 am, but he had no idea when they’d actually come up from the shop. His body felt heavy and sluggish as he readjusted the throw pillows under his head. He’d come in just past midnight, maybe been there an hour, two at most before… Bucky screwed his eyes shut. He needed to get this under control, he couldn’t let this happen again.

Inside your room, sheets rustled again, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever get to experience that again; undisturbed sleep for more than a few hours at most. It wasn’t an outrageous demand, shouldn’t be such a wild dream. Things had been going so well before the nightmares got worse again, he’d been steadily working his way up to four and five hour nights, he’d hoped he could’ve gone up to six hours by Christmas, it would’ve been like-

_like when he fell asleep in the shop._

Twice now, he’d fallen asleep in your company. He’d slept longer than he usually did, relatively undisturbed and without resorting to violence when he eventually woke up. That morning in the shop, Bucky realized, was the day he decided to start trying. He’d seen he could manage almost a normal amount of hours, and it was what kept him going, kept him pushing through the nightmares that still came for as long as he could. They were only dreams, none of them were real, not anymore.

Content in this epiphany, Bucky let himself doze on and off for the next couple of hours. He still didn’t want to push his luck and fall completely asleep, but it was something. Today was a new day, he could start working on his fucked up sleeping tonight. When the soft padding of your feet sounded from your room, he sat up in anticipation, legs crossed and a tentative smile in place to greet you. You were still in the same clothes as last night, rumpled from sleep, hair still a mess. At least you looked rested, and your face lit up when you saw him awake.

”And here I was trying to be all stealthy,” you teased, scratching along your neck.

”It was a very good attempt,” Bucky offered, deciding it probably wouldn’t sound good if he’d say he’d be able to pick up on your steps from across the street.

”Did you sleep at all?”

”Napped a little. That in there,” He nodded towards your bedroom, “already felt like I’d slept for way longer than I should have.”

”Bucky…” Your voice sounded so pleading, a slight whine tinging it.

”I’ll work on it, I promise.”

”Okay.” There was a beat of silence between you. ”So… breakfast?”

”Sounds great.”

You held out your hand, wanting him to join you, and Bucky was all too happy to oblige. Soon, the apartment was awash in the smell of sizzling bacon, scrambled eggs, and… cupcakes. Bucky quirked an eyebrow at you when you began pulling out ingredients for the sweet treats, and you simply said that just because you couldn’t make a big enough batch last night didn’t mean you two had to be deprived of what was obviously a good cupcake. You added a good amount of homemade apple cider to the batter, setting some aside for you to enjoy as breakfast drinks, mixing the batter and dividing it into the cupcake pan.

While the cupcakes baked, you heated up some cider for you and Bucky to go with the coffee you’d made, and the two of you ate your bacon and eggs standing, leaning over the counter in amicable silence. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the way you arranged your scrambled eggs, spearing pieces according to size from biggest to smallest before taking a bite, pacing your slices of bacon so it would last as long as possible. He barely managed to hide his flinch when the timer rang out, signaling the cupcakes were done. Either you really didn’t notice, or you pretended not to for his benefit, and Bucky wasn’t sure which he should prefer. He took a sip of the cider, its warmth flooding him like a tidal wave. The comforting blend of cinnamon and allspice, punctured with something else, something a bit more sharp that snuck up like a slow heat on his tongue warmed him. If the cider alone was this good, he couldn’t wait to taste the cupcakes.

”Do you mind if I just scoop on the frosting?” you asked about fifteen minutes later, scraping butter into the stand mixer.

Bucky shook his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Content with the answer, you poured in the rest of the ingredients and turned on the mixer. After the previous night, the monotone humming of the machine scratched painfully at memories of being strapped down and the low hum of electricity like an angry swarm of bees just before his mind was turned into a clean slate. It was a blessing that the frosting you made mixed quickly and the sound died out, leaving him even more resolute to fix his broken self.

”Thanks again,” he began, eyes following your hands as they spooned a mound of frosting onto the cupcakes. ”For… for last night.”

You stopped, balancing a big dollop of frosting on one spoon. ”You would’ve done the same for me, Bucky.”

”Doesn’t mean anyone else would’ve. Not that calmly and without any kind of safeguards in case… in case I would’ve gone off the rails.”

”Is that what you’re afraid of? That you’ll turn into the Winter Soldier?” you asked, setting the spoon into the bowl.

”No! No, not- I can’t- I can’t have my mind flipped like that anymore,” Bucky hurriedly assured you. ”But I still have, I don’t know, reflexes. I have an arm that can punch through walls, and a fight-or-flight response that will never do me any favours outside of battles. I know I should have kept trying to sleep when the nightmares returned, I just…”

”Bucky…” You came up to him, placing your hands over his. ”You don’t need to explain yourself. Sure, I’m sad that you thought it best to deprive yourself of sleep, and that there was next to nothing I could do, or that you would let me do, but I can’t judge you for something that was done to you and that you live through every day.”

”I’m gonna start trying again, I promise,” Bucky murmured, bringing your hands up to kiss them. ”I haven’t slept this good in months, and I was doing do good.”

”And you will get there again,” you encouraged him, rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles.

”Maybe… Maybe when I get myself under control a little more, I could… stay the night? On the couch, to begin with, but still… Here. If you’d let me.”

The smile you gave Bucky felt like sunshine; radiant and full of life, rejuvenating him to his core. Nodding your head enthusiastically, you leaned over for a quick peck to his cheek before returning to frosting the cupcakes. He waited patiently for you to finish up all of them, gratefully accepting one while you set aside the bowl and utensils you’d used. Even cooled, the cupcakes smelled fragrant, a delicious blend of vanilla, apple and spices. Bucky peeled off the wrapper and took a generous bite, eyes fluttering close as the flavours exploded on his tongue.

It tasted like home.


	7. Tread Gingerly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my darlings. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to finish this chapter. Or, well, some of you probably know, since I’ve bitched about it. A lot. In short: long-ass cold, not one but TWO drabble/mini series and a stubborn-as-all-fuck writer’s block. At least I can console myself with the fact that my cold served me well in writing this chapter once I had regained the higher brain functions necessary to actually do some writing. Recipe will be added to my tumblr as soon as I can compile it!

_Ginger: a herb in the Zingiberaceae-family, known for its aromatic, underground stem. The stem can be used fresh or dried and ground as a spice. Ginger goes well with apples, lemon, pumpkin, chocolate and dates._

* * *

 

You tried not to push as weeks passed after the incident in the shop. Bucky had said he would try, and you knew he did. He would tell you how he'd slept each time he came in, sometimes sounding so proud for managing two hours, sometimes sounding so utterly wrecked because all of his progress had shattered and he'd had a bad night. You tried not to keep track, but it was hard. With each night, you took his offered update, compared it to the one before, and your heart sank when realizing the good nights barely outweighed the bad ones. You tried to tell yourself it was okay, that he was doing okay, that good and bad nights in equal measure was still better than just bad nights.

It was something to hold on to, and you needed it.

There was no shortage of work, people suddenly crowding to the shop. Valentine's Day came and went, and much as you would have loved to spend it with Bucky, the year's most romantic day was condensed into sharing a pink cupcake and a quick kiss in the kitchen before you had to rush to get everything in order. He'd sat in the shop for a couple of hours, sneaking out while you were in the kitchen to fetch a new batch of pink lemonade cupcakes. Returning, you'd found his seat empty, napkin folded neatly on the small plate you'd served him a chocolate cupcake on. Scrawled onto the tissue was a simple ”Open me”. It had brought a smile to your face, remembering his first visit, and the message left on the napkin. You had taken the plate with you into the kitchen, picking up the napkin, expecting it to be another message. To your surprise, there had been weight to it, something flat and hard wrapped in it. Tearing away the improvised wrapping, you had gasped as a metal disc suspended from a thin ball chain fell into the palm of your hand

_JAMES B. BARNES  
_ _32557038 T42 43 A  
_ __  
P

One of his dog tags. Ignoring the steady trilling of the bell above the door, you'd pulled your phone from your pocket, calling him with a lump in your throat.

” _Hello?”_

”Thank you.”

” _You found it.”_ You could hear the smile in his voice.

”It's... You didn't have to get me anything, Bucky.”

” _I wanted to. You've been working so hard, and I wanted you to have something when we couldn't spend the day together.”_

You smiled, turning the tag over in your free hand, the pad of your thumb running over the indentations of the stenciled letters.

”Well, James B. Barnes, 32557038, T 42, 43, A, P. Thank you.”

He gave a short, barking laugh. _”It's not the original. Couldn't keep anything that could be used to trigger me back. Though I wouldn't be surprised if it's gathering dust in some old Russian HYDRA compound somewhere. But it's the same information. Still accurate. Still...”_

”Still what, Bucky?”

The line had crackled as he exhaled and drew a breath again. _”It's a thing soldiers did, still do, I think. Give one of their dog tags to their girl before shipping out. I- I remembered, there was this guy shipping out at the same time as me. We were supposed to embark, but his girl wouldn't let go of him, crying up a storm, and he tried to get her to calm down. Could tell the fella was close to tears himself. Eventually, he got his tags off, unhooked one and pressed it into her hand, promised her he'd come back, that she'd have a piece of him with her always.”_

Closing your fist around the tag, you had pressed it against your chest. There hadn't been that many Valentine's Days spent with a significant other, and any gift you had received now paled in comparison. Bucky had given you part of himself, showing his affection in a way that had your heart beating wildly in your chest.

” _Doll?”_

”I love it,” you said, voice shaking with emotion. ”It's- thank you.”

From that day, the chain hung around your neck, the cool weight of the tag against your chest a sweet reminder of the man you loved. No matter if he was there or not, no matter how busy the shop was, you'd stop for just a few seconds to feel the metal on your skin. If Bucky was there for the night, he'd smile sweetly at you, at the hand touching the tags hidden under your shirt. It became as much a sign of affection as the kisses and hugs you shared, and for you, it became something of a good luck charm that held you over even during the most stressful nights.

Until one day, it didn't. March was slowly coming to an end, and though you had managed okay, it felt like the month had drawn on for way longer than it should have. You felt tired, the telltale signs of a cold weighing down on you. Being sick was not an option, not when you were the sole employee, and so you did everything you could think of to preemptively stop the cold from flaring up completely. If you had been the only one fighting a cold, it might have worked, but with literally everyone and their mother getting hit at more or less the same time, you were fighting a losing battle. Tea sales spiked as tired customers dragged themselves in through the door for something soothing to drink and something sweet to keep them awake long enough to last through the night.

”It's unfair,” you complained to Bucky one night, head feeling like someone had poured concrete into it.

”Unfair that I went through horrible human experiments, brainwashing and had my memory shot to hell for the slight perk of being able to resist the common cold?” he joked, looking a little too smug as he took another gulp of coffee.

”You know what I mean.” You refilled the tea kettle, setting it back onto the base and turned it on.

”I do, I'm just teasing you. If it's any consolation, I rarely got sick before the serum either. Made it all through the war without getting sick, and at one point I had to share a tent with Dugan, who had the flu for two weeks.”

You mock glared at him, pursing your lips and crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky merely bit his lower lip, apparently your attempt at looking stern had little to no effect on him. Kind of like the cold remedies you had gulped down by the gallon. Your hand drifted to the tag underneath your shirt, fiddling with it and silently asking it for strength for the remaining hours. End of shift could not come soon enough.

You made it through two more days before it got to you, although you steadfastly refused to admit defeat. Despite your limbs feeling like they were laced with lead, you got up, took a fever reducer and set about baking tonight's cupcakes. For days you had been subsisting on soups and gallons upon gallons of lemon-ginger-honey tea, something that you brought into your baking tonight, using ginger preserve to create a cupcake that tasted akin to what getting better felt like. It was slow work, your head drooping, your body forcing you to take short breaks to regain strength, running up the stairs to sneeze. By the time Bucky came around, half an hour before opening, you were still rushing to get the last batches of cupcakes mixed.

”Overslept?” he asked, taking in the disarray surrounding you.

”Sick,” you replied, exhaling heavily and crashing into him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

”Then why are you open? You should be upstairs in bed, doll.”

”Can't.” Your voice was muffled against his warm sweater. ”Have to stay open.”

”Sweetheart...” he began, but you shook your head, looking up at him.

”I need to stay open,” you reiterated, trying to sound firm. ”Either way, it's too late to do a 180 now. I've got the cupcakes almost all done. I can't let them go to waste.”

Sniffling, you turned and walked back to the bowl with half-done cupcake batter. Bucky really shouldn't have mentioned bed. It was all you could do not to abandon everything and go upstairs like he'd said you should. Sleep was... complicated when you were sick, always waking up every two or three hours feeling like you'd both gotten way too little and way too much sleep, never quite finding a happy middle. Sensing Bucky following your every move, you let out a little sigh, looking up again. Sure enough, he'd parked himself in his usual spot, arms crossed over his torso, peering at you with a perturbed expression on his face.

”You're hovering,” you told him flatly, swallowing to suppress a cough.

”I'm surveying,” Bucky rebutted, demonstratively placing one foot over the other to cross his legs.

”Well, then, can you go upstairs and survey me some tea? My throat's killing me.”

Bucky pursed his lips, eyes raking over you before answering. ”What kind?”

”I have a cup by the kettle. It's- there's a strainer in there with chopped ginger that should be good for another cup. Just heat up water, add it with a bit of lemon juice and honey. They're both in the cabinet to the left of the stove.”

He gave a sigh, his own kind of non-verbal protest, but nevertheless disappeared up the stairs. Letting out a long breath, you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, inhaling again as best you could. It was okay, you could still make it. No extra flourishes for the remaining cupcakes. No one would care, it was okay to keep it clean and simple. A shiver travelled up your spine, and you shuddered, shaking your hands before returning to the unfinished cupcakes.

Bucky returned not five minutes later with a scalding hot cup of tea, trying in vain to at least get you to sit down while you drank. You reiterated how there was no time, commenting that maybe you should dress up in white rabbit ears to make your point. Instead, you had him help where he could, carrying the trays of finished cupcakes out to the case. Part of you felt a little guilty for bossing him around, but he seemed happy to help when you refused everything else. It would be fine. You'd make it through the night. Just a few more-

” _Doll?”_

”Wha'?”

You looked up, head spinning with vertigo as the shop was brought into focus, Bucky's concerned face taking up most of your field of vision. Next to him, someone cleared their throat, and you whipped your head around, the movement feeling unbearably slow. It was Stan, again, his fingers tapping against the counter. Wait, when had Stan come in? You gave a weak smile, surreptitiously looking around. There were a handful of customers spread out at the tables, Bucky sitting in his usual spot by the counter. You became aware of something clenched in your fist, looking down to find a crumpled ten dollar bill, your other hand hovering over the cash register.

”I hope you're not trying to skin me,” Stan joked, eyes glittering behind the perpetual shades he wore no matter the season and time of day.

”N-no!” you stuttered, almost managing to hide it behind a laugh, forcing your fingers to tap quickly so the register opened and you could give the man his change.

”You should take a day off, darling, you don't look so hot,” he remarked, holding out his hand to take the coins.

You couldn't help but shoot a dirty look at Bucky for that one, who only shrugged in response.

”Oh, don't you know, Stan? I am in fact a robot. Place closes down, they come in and turn me off, stuff me in a cupboard out back.”

”Well, hell, maybe you should tell them to take you in for maintenance.”

”I am going to assume you said that out of concern,” you mock-grumbled, placing your right hand on your hip, the left grabbing hold of the edge of the counter when your world once again began to sway.

”As you should,” Stan smiled, and nodded his head, grabbing the cupcake he'd bought. ”Thanks for this.”

You managed a weak smile, waving the old man off as he headed for the exit. To your right, you could feel Bucky's eyes burning a hole in your side. Stifling a sigh, you let your gaze flicker back to him, and sure enough, he had that expression on him where he wanted to argue.

”I'm fine,” you told him in a low voice, pushing the cashbox closed.

”You're not,” he replied gently, reaching over to take hold of your hand. ”You spaced out, doll, you were gone for almost twenty seconds.”

”'S not that much...” You looked down, blinking a couple of times to reestablish focus.

”It is. Count it out, see how long you just stood there.”

You reluctantly obliged, counting quietly to yourself. It got unbearable by the time you hit ten, and you pulled a face, clenching your free hand into a fist. So maybe you were a little sick.

”I can't close down, I'm-”

”I know, you're the only one here,” Bucky finished for you. ”I swear, if you and Steve had met back in the day, you'd've given me a heart attack.”

His comment pulled a snorting laugh from you, causing another wince as vertigo struck again. You faltered, your grip on Bucky's hand tightening as you slumped forward. _Breathe. You gotta breathe,_ you told yourself, your left hand letting go of the counter edge to pillow your head as you leaned down. Your forehead felt uncomfortably hot and clammy against your hand, but the position provided a small sense of relief. Just a moment, just a couple of seconds-

”Doll!”

Bucky's frantic hiss made you bolt upright, head swimming at the too-fast motion. You swayed, squeezing your eyes shut as a throb behind your eyes surged through you. Had Bucky not been holding your hand in his, you were sure you would have toppled over.

”I'm fine!” you blurted out automatically, only to whimper when the throbbing in your head protested the statement wildly.

Bucky simply looked at you, a plea in his gaze that just begged you to reconsider. You had your retort on the tip of your tongue, another pointed comment about your situation when your eyes fell to the clock on the wall. You were barely one and a half hour into your day. The realization sank like a stone in your stomach. There were still hours to go, and you already felt like you'd been through the grinder. The bell above the door chimed, and you let out a heavy sigh as you saw five women hustle inside, looking way too perky and alert to be real.

”Sweetheart, please, you're gonna run yourself into the ground,” Bucky said under his breath, having noted your defeated expression at the influx of customers. ”I know you don't want to, but-”

”I'll close.”

To say he looked a bit shocked was an understatement. Bucky squinted his eyes to look at you, perhaps checking to see if you were pranking him. You couldn't blame him, you'd probably also think someone was messing with you if you were in his position. Much as you had your principles and plenty of work to do, you also had your limit. Five new customers coming in to the tune of a ache that wouldn't give, that in fact seemed to be spreading instead. Maybe it was because you were finally admitting defeat, allowing yourself to feel as sick as you really were, and it spread like wildfire through you.

”You need help?” Bucky asked, nodding to the customers seated at the tables.

”Don't scare them away,” you mock-warned him, poking him in the arm. ”Just because I close early doesn't mean I don't want them to come back.”

”Oh, you wound me! I swear on my blessed Ma's grave..!”

”Are you gonna help or not, Barnes?”

Bucky merely gave you goofy grin and spun his chair around to jump off it and go inform the patrons that you were closing. You couldn't help your own little grin, however quick it was. The five ladies that had entered approached you, and you explained you would be closing early due to illness. You offered to sell them cupcakes if they were okay with takeaway. Thankfully, they were nice about it, picking out a decent sample box of cupcakes. Feeling bad, you threw in a discount before bidding them goodnight.

Hearing the bell chime again, this time knowing it was because people were leaving, was a bit of relief, until you looked back at the display, remembering the mess in the kitchen you hadn't had time to completely clean up before opening. There was so much to do still, and now that you were finally allowed at least one night's rest, you couldn't fall asleep right away. The cupcakes needed to be put away, the shop needed to be cleaned, the kitchen needed tidying, you had to count the cashbox and check the locks and the alarm, and-

”Hey, hey, what's the matter?” Bucky's voice, tinged with concern, drew your attention.

”There's... there's so much to do,” you answered, sounding way more defeated than you meant to. ”I-I can't, I don't want to...”

Ducking under the counter top, Bucky came up next to you, wrapping you in a tight hug. His embrace, while usually effective in easing your worries, didn't quite reach through to you. Sure, it helped a little, but the ache and the ever-present sensation of vertigo made it hard to focus and your thoughts were a jumble that kept going in circles, always returning to the disarray that couldn't be left to tomorrow.

”Shh, shh...” Bucky soothed you, letting a steady hand run calming circles over your back. ”What do you need me to do? What do you need help with?”

”Everything.”

”We'll be here all night, and that kinda defeats the purpose of you closing early, don't it?”

”I can't leave it, Bucky, the cupcakes-”

”So we put away the cupcakes,” he interrupted you, pulling you away slightly so he could look at you. ”We do the absolutely necessary things, nothing more, nothing less. Think about it, what can't you leave until tomorrow?”

You wanted repeat your answer, but he had a point. If you took on everything, even with Bucky's help, you'd be here for at least an hour, and your body was steadily giving out on you. Taking a deep breath, you ran through your end of night ritual, willing your racing mind to slow down, to match the steady heartbeat thumping under Bucky's shirt.

”Cupcakes,” you began, trusting Bucky to remember things better than you would at this point. ”We need to put them in the fridge, and... and lock the doors and check the alarms. I... I don't remember if I left something out. If I did we need to throw it away.”

”Cupcakes, doors and trash,” he summarized, stroking you over the crown of your head. ”Sounds doable.”

You nodded meekly against his chest, unwilling to leave now that you were there. Still, you knew you had to get started, and you extricated yourself from his hug. Bucky insisted he put away the cupcakes, urging you to lock up since you knew the system better. Too tired to argue, you gave another nod, dragging your feet to the front door to lock and deadbolt it, then twist and pull the handle an inordinate amount of times to really make sure it was locked. A slow crawl later via the till to at least pull out the cash drawer, you were in the kitchen, barely noticing Bucky as he scooched past you. After hiding the money, the procedure was repeated on the backdoor. Lock, twist, pull, repeat.

”It's locked, darlin',” came Bucky's gentle voice behind you.

You turned, finding him with one tray in each hand, a small smile in place.

”'M just being thorough,” you told him, feeling your cheeks burn slightly.

”I know,” he appeased, setting one of the trays down to open the fridge. ”Look, I'm just about done, only got three trays left. Why don't you set the alarm and go upstairs, I'll come up as soon as I'm done.”

”You'll need the code, do you remem-”

”954772.” Bucky shot you a grin. ”Memory might be a bit shoddy, but some things still stick. Go on, go upstairs and get to bed. I'll be up before you know it.”

If you'd had more energy, you would have teased him for that accidental innuendo, but as it was, you hummed and headed for the door that led upstairs. You punched in the sequence that would set the alarm and headed up the stairs while Bucky kept his eyes on you for as long as he could, knitting his brows together when the door finally swung close. He had to work fast. It was only a flight of stairs and small distance between your door and your bedroom, but god only knew what you could get up to in your state.

He hurried to fetch the rest of the cupcakes from the case and the windows, snapping a quick pic of the packed fridge that he sent to Stark with the caption _”I assume you can afford these?”_ He could accept bringing home a small box of leftovers, but this was more than he'd feel comfortable taking home without offering any compensation. Stark, not surprising, got back to him in seconds with a _”if this is a joke, I'm kicking you out”_ , followed almost directly by _”You don't toy with a man's emotions like this, so this better be real”_ and _”I'm writing a check now”_. Bucky smirked, tucking the phone back in his jeans pocket. The kitchen, while still in a bit of disarray, could wait until tomorrow. There was nothing left out on the counters that needed to be thrown away immediately, although his fingers twitched with the need to help and tidy up. Bucky shook his head. He'd promised he'd be up as quickly as possible. Everything that had to be done was done. Giving the room one last once over, Bucky quickly punched the code to the alarm, opened the door an hurried up the stairs.

Making a beeline for your bedroom, his heart almost dropped when he saw your bed empty. Mind running a mile a minute, Bucky's eyes began scanning in the room, the tactical training that had been part learned, part forced upon him taking in the minute details of the room. _Window closed, no sign of forced entry. Bed made, sheets still neat, no struggle. Point of extraction unlikely_. His body started moving almost of its own accord to continue the meticulous search in the living room, hand already back in his pocket to call Steve and assemble his team mates to tear down the city if that's what it would take, when a soft whine diverted him.

It felt like his heart stopped completely when his eyes found you, curled up like a cat on the couch. The tension that had gathered in him bled away, jaw unclenching and lips pulling up into a soft smile. You looked so small to him, and Bucky couldn't help but see the similarities to Steve as his friend existed in his choppy memories; easily shrugged off as frail and weak but with tenacity to fight the entire god damn world. He hesitated before pulling the blanket from the backrest, scrunching up his face as he saw the hole still there. Why you still kept this couch was beyond him. Bucky shook out the blanket, draping it over you and pressing a kiss to your forehead, memories supplying context: his ma, kissing him and Becca just like this to test their temperature. You're warm, not quite burning, but it's getting there. He set off for the kitchen and seconds later, the kettle was bubbling. Quickly, Bucky found the ingredients needed to make you a fresh cup of tea, tiptoeing to the bathroom to rifle through the mirror cabinet. The telltale click of the thermostat shutting off sounded just as he pushed a fever reducer from the foil capsules.

”Sweetheart?”

Bucky gently stroked your cheek with his right hand, making sure to carefully set down the mug he held in his left on the coffee table. You gave another whine, curling together more and trapping his hand between your cheek and your shoulder.

”C'mon, sugar, wake up...” Another protest. ”Just for a little while. Got you some tea and something for your fever.”

”Bucky?”

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking until they finally settled on him, bringing out a dopey smile. A stronger man than him might have been able to keep a straight face, but Bucky conceded then and there; he was not a strong man, not when you looked at him like that.

”Got some tea and medicine for you,” he repeated. ”Think you can sit up for a little while?”

Nodding, you pushed your upper body down before trying to launch yourself up into sitting position. It took a couple of tries, a whole lot of suppressed grunts and Bucky gently helping you along and making sure the blanket stayed on you. When you were all seated, cup of tea in your hand and medicine swallowed, Bucky joined you, sitting down on your left. You hummed contentedly, letting your head droop and fall against his shoulder, your eyes once again falling shut.

”C'mon, drink a little more tea,” he coaxed you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

”Wanna sleep,” came the slurred answer, followed by a heavy sigh.

”I know, I know. Just a few more sips, okay? Then I'll tuck you back in.”

You held onto the mug with both hands, taking a few token sips before holding out the mug for him. Bucky shook his head and gave a small scoff. Yeah, Steve and you would have gotten along swimmingly, probably put him in an early grave. He took a sip of his own, humming as the combined taste of ginger, lemon and honey hit his tongue.

”Don't... Don' want you gettin' my icky germs.”

”Got immunity, remember? Your germs can't get to me,” Bucky told you, placing the mug on the table. ”Let's get you to bed, okay?”

You hummed, but made no move to get up from the couch. He tried cajoling you some more, but you were almost fast asleep again and pretty much dead to the world. Seeing no other way to get you from the couch to the bedroom, he gently shifted you so he could snake one arm under your knees and the behind your back to lift you up. You barely let out a huff as Bucky carried you the short distance, only turned a little in his grip when he sat down to pull the bedspread aside, and giving a shallow sigh when you were finally laid out like Sleeping Beauty. As he reached to pull the comforter over you, you shifted again, rolling onto your side, your hands coming up to clasp something at your neck. In the soft light from the lamp posts outside, the metal of the dog tag only glinted dully, but to Bucky it may as well have been the sun. 

He'd spotted the chain around your neck every time he'd visited since Valentine's Day, barely able to conceal the joy that shot through him. You always kept the tags under your shirt, but he could understand why, and the thought that you carried him with you where you went warmed him more than he'd expected. Bucky reached out, letting his fingers drag over your closed fist, feeling the metal of the tag, still warm from your body heat, under his fingertips. His left hand dipped inside the collar of his own shirt, pulling out the matching necklace with the second tag.

The idea had come to him when Steve had dragged him along to once again go through boxes of stuff from their time. It was mostly photos and trinkets, but at the very bottom were Steve's own dog tags. He'd gotten them, but never really taken to wearing them while out in the field, and after the Valkyrie went down, all of his belongings had been packed and filed away in storage. Bucky found himself missing his own tags, this simple sign of identification. Name, service number, vaccinations, blood group, religion. A solid sign that he _existed_. His own tags were lost forever, but Steve had pointed out he could probably get replacement tags if he wanted. It had taken some wrangling to get them, and seeing them looking so... new felt strange. He still remembered his own tags, a little banged up, the metal having lost its intial shine. Giving one of the tags to you had been an easy choice, and Valentine's Day provided the perfect time to do so.

Bucky leaned down, planting a soft kiss to your forehead. Your temperature seemed to have gone down a little, and you hummed under your breath.

”Please, don't go,” you murmured, leaning in to the sweet kiss.

For once, Bucky's first reaction was not to deny you. A stronger man might have been able to, but as he'd established, James Buchanan Barnes was not a strong man. He didn't care if he wouldn’t sleep a wink, he wanted to be here, wanted to do this. It was domestic, intimate. Forehead kisses and tea and someone who wore proof him right by their heart. He smiled against your skin, pressing another kiss there.

”I'll be on the couch, darlin'.”

His statement calmed you, allowing you to slip back to dreamland while Bucky eased himself off the bed and tiptoed out of the room. Lying down on the couch felt easier than before. He didn't expect to sleep, instead lounging and listening to the sounds of your rhythmic breaths while letting the tag flick between his fingers.

Proof he existed, a promise he'd always come back.


	8. Rasp-utin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a hell of a long time and required a hiatus to get finished. I hope it was all worth the wait, and that you guys still like the fic. This is in all probability the penultimate chapter, and I am working on writing the final instalment!

_Raspberry: any of various usually black or red juicy berries from the perennial Rubus-family. The plant aggregate fruits consisting of numerous small drupes on a fleshy receptacle and are usually rounder and smaller than the closely related blackberries. Raspberries pair well with dark chocolate, basil, pistachios, mascarpone and coconut._

* * *

Much like New York seemed to rise from the depths of winter, fighting to reach the oncoming spring, you finally began to see improvement in Bucky. It was slow, you never expected otherwise, and it took you a while to notice. One evening at the beginning of May, when the streets were still basking in the soft light of springtime, he came in and you had to stop what you were doing to really look at him. You had seen him plenty since the night you closed up early because of your cold; true to his word, he had asked Steve to only send him on shorter missions. They cropped up surprisingly often, but never took Bucky away from New York more than a day or two at a time. You laughed and said maybe the bad guys were all suffering from spring madness. Maybe it was these short missions, the interruptions in his regular visits that made you blind to the change until tonight.

He looked good, more at ease than he had in, well, a while. The perpetual dark circles under his eyes had all but faded, he'd taken the time to shave off the scruff, his hair pulled back in a neat little bun at the nape of his neck. Warmth spread in your chest, watching him shrug off his jacket, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt and meeting your gaze with an easy smile. The second he was within reach, you dropped the balloon whisk you were using and hugged him close.

”Hi.”

It was more a breath than a statement, followed by a blissful inhale. The sweet notes of caramel and vanilla were wrapped in the crispness of spring, the last warmth of the day's sun still lingering in the fabric of his shirt. The muscles of his back moved under the palms of your hands, his own arms snaking around you to hold you, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

”Hi,” he mumbled in reply, voice soft and warm, music to your ears.

”Hi,” you repeated, too content to let this moment go. Maybe it was silly, but the fact that he looked like he'd been sleeping, like he was okay was something you wanted to remember with every fiber of your being.

”You okay, sweetheart?”

You pulled away, letting out a hum as your fingers smoothed out the creases on his shirt. ”I'm good. Fine. It's- I'm good.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow, but didn't press the matter, his smile growing wider as you made a silly little dance back to the counter where you resumed your prep work.

”You're in a good mood,” he remarked, following you and fiddling with a spatula resting in an empty bowl.

”I've had a decent day,” you rebutted, not even looking up from the bowl you were whisking ingredients in.

”Good, good, that's... that's good.”

That caught your attention. You let go of the whisk, looking up at Bucky only to find his shoulders slumped and his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He almost looked like he was ashamed, his lips slightly pursed in anticipation.

”What happened?” you asked gently, trying to keep a demanding tone from sneaking into your voice.

”Mission came up, I- They need me.”

”Tonight?” You looked at him hopefully, begging with all of your heart that it wouldn't be tonight, that whatever higher power was in charge could at least give you tonight.

”No,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. ”Two days from now. It's... I'll be gone for five days.”

His voice dropped to almost a murmur as he uttered the last sentence, and your heart sank a little. Five days. It had been a while since he'd been gone on a mission for that long, and he'd done so well getting back to some semblance of normal in just taking on shorter missions. Part of you wanted to persuade him not to go, to plead with him and make him think about how longer missions would screw up his rhythm, possibly lay waste to any and all progress he'd made. You bit the inside of your mouth, cursing yourself for letting these thoughts run rampant. They were ultimately selfish; your own desire not to let him go, a shameful distrust that Bucky might not make it without a regular schedule, without...  _without you_.

”Y-you gonna be okay?” you asked, swallowing hard.

He took his time answering, and you hated to think he'd just accepted the mission without actually thinking about what it would mean for him. And there it was again: that selfish way of thinking, so easily brought back. Bucky seemed to pick up on it, too, coming over to take hold of your hands and bring them up against his chest.

”I'll be fine,” he promised, pressing kisses to your knuckles, nuzzling them against his cheeks. ”I feel... sort of ready. It's only five days, and Steve and Tony swore this was an exception, that I could go back to one- and two-day stints.”

You nodded, unable to say anything, fearing that if you did, it would all come out in pathetic pleas for him to stay, the stuff of period dramas with handkerchiefs waving in the wind. It was five days. Bucky was doing good, he'd be okay.

”You won't be alone, right?” you finally managed, biting down and tensing your jaw.

Bucky offered you a small smile. ”No, I won't. Steve will be there. Nat and Clint, too. Sam... unfortunately.”

You both scoffed at the last part. Bucky and Sam still had a playfully antagonistic friendship, taking great pleasure in throwing around jibes and occasionally playing pranks. You never thought Bucky would get sent out alone on a five day mission; from what you'd gathered, the Avengers worked minimum in pairs for missions. Still, it was nice to get the confirmation that he'd have backup.

”I thought...” Bucky lowered your hands, thumbs stroking over your knuckles.

”What?”

Taking a deep breath, he shifted on his feet. ”I thought maybe... I could stay the night before we leave?”

You blinked in surprise. Much as you had wished for this issue to come up for discussion, you had never pushed for it. Bucky had come up a couple of times with you after closing, sometimes sitting by your bedside while you fell asleep, but he had not stayed the night since you were sick. Something bloomed in your chest, a joy rising therein that he was taking another step. He was the one to offer, to stand here like a shy teenage boy asking his crush out on a date, and you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up your throat. For a split second, Bucky looked perplexed, before being veritably attacked as you launched yourself at him, clinging to him once again in a tight hug.

He staggered backwards, keeping a tight hold of you as you swung your legs around his waist. “So, is that a yes on the staying over?”

“Yes. A million times yes. Yes any day of the week,” you thrilled, pressing kisses to his neck and throat, revelling in the giggles it pulled from him.

Carefully setting you down, Bucky gave you a quick peck on the cheek, his eyes glittering as you twirled back to the counter, continuing your prep work with a blissful smile on your lips. He stayed the rest of the night, the two of you exchanging looks of excitement and quick pecks whenever time allowed. Despite telling him he didn’t have to stay and help with clean-up, that you’d take full advantage of his presence later, he still lingered until you almost had to push him out the door.

You tried not to expect too much of his offer, get your hopes up too much. He’d said he’d stay the night. That didn’t mean you would share a bed, at least not all night.  _But he’ll be here_ , your mind supplied, the giddiness dancing through you, sparking along every nerve ending in your body, keeping you up far past what you considered your bedtime. Expectations or no, that was something you couldn’t deny. Bucky would be here, and you would be happy with whatever that entailed.

Maybe the snooze button on your alarm got a little more attention the day of, maybe your steps still felt sluggish as you dragged yourself down to the farmer’s market to hunt for raspberries. Maybe you ended up buying plain white wine instead of sparkling on your way back and you had to turn around to get the right kind. You didn’t care. Your body trilled with every hour that brought you closer to prep time, remembering Bucky’s promise as you’d shoved him out the door with a lopsided grin.

_“I’ll be here as soon as I can. Don’t start without me.”_

He showed up carrying a large, bulky duffel bag slung over his shoulder, greeting you with a smile and sweet kiss when you opened the door for him. There was excitement in his eyes, a glint that you wanted to keep there forever, a charm that you were sure had made many a girl giggling back in the 30’s and 40’s. Part of you wished you could go back in time, see him as he had been then, but another part of you was just as excited about seeing this Bucky break out of his shell.

“I don’t suppose that’s pillows and teddy bears.” You nodded to the duffel.

“Damn, I knew there was something I’d forgotten,” Bucky quipped with a quirk of his lips.

“Can I see?”

Bucky stiffened, his grip tightening on the straps. “I-it’s just my gear,” he stuttered, dropping his gaze. “Didn’t want to draw attention on the subway.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I was- You don’t have to. You can go leave it upstairs, if you want. Don’t wanna trip over it when we bake, right?” You ducked your head to make eye contact with him again, giving him a hopeful smile.

Giving only a nod in reply, he disappeared upstairs, leaving you in the kitchen to wait. You cursed yourself for bringing him down, running your hands over your apron. This was supposed to be your night, and you’d already put your foot in it. The stairs creaked again, signalling Bucky’s return, and you smoothed out the expression on your face, hoping you could mend the situation. To your surprise, Bucky was the one to take charge, stepping up to you as soon as he got back into the kitchen and wrapping you up in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss to your skin in appeasement. “I didn’t mean to- I screwed up, didn’t I?”

You tried to protest, bringing his face back into view, but his eyes were determined, and he spoke again before you could assure him he didn’t do anything wrong.

“I know it seems exciting, but this- that part of me up in that bag… I don’t want that life to touch you. Not directly. Not for as long as I can help it.”

You felt even more foolish for having made the joke in the first place, because you did understand. What you had seen of Bucky’s life when visiting the tower, it was a far cry from your own, yes, but it wasn’t the whole picture. There was a piece he kept hidden, the one you accidentally caught a glimpse of all those months ago when you realized who your nocturnal mystery customer was. It was a part of him that you were aware of, but had not been invited into, nor asked to be made privy to. For months, you and Bucky had had a quiet understanding, and you’d never even realized.

“I know, I didn't mean to pry,” you soothed him, running your fingers through his hair. “You didn't screw up, Bucky, we're okay.”

He let out a breath that tickled your skin, sending goosebumps down your arms, breathing in the scent of you, almost like he was committing you to memory. You knew you needed to start baking and prepping for the night, but you allowed yourself ten more seconds in his embrace, ten seconds of feeling him as close as you might ever get, cherishing this moment of peace. Counting down the soft clicks of the clock on the wall felt like you were counting down to something terrible, your heartbeat picking up in breathless anticipation, but as you hit zero, nothing happened. Letting out a shallow breath in relief, you drifted out of the hug.

“Ready to help out?” you asked him softly, cupping his chin in your hands.

He gave a silent nod, the tension in his face gone and replaced by something tender and excited. Smiling, you tugged him along to the other side of the counter, showing him the list of things you would be making and ordering him to wash his hands and tie his hair up.

It felt strange to have actual help. You were so used to doing everything on your own that Bucky’s presence in the kitchen sometimes threw you off, so entrenched in your habits that you bumped into him. You couldn't directly involve him in much of the baking, but he dutifully handed you things from high shelves, kept track of how long things had been in the oven, not to mention picking up after you and studiously filling and emptying the dishwasher as needed.

“What do you think?” you asked hours later, setting down the spatula you had used to stir the frosting for the last batch of cupcakes.

Bucky craned his neck, quirking an eyebrow at the vibrantly coloured frosting, “It’s very… pink,” he offered diplomatically, not sure what you really wanted him to comment on.

“That’s the point. Raspberries are pink, and I want it to be raspberry-ish pink.”

“You putting that on those booze cupcakes you made?”

You shot him a playful glare, pulling the tray of cupcakes closer to you. He’d made a very amused face when you pulled out the small bottle of sparkling wine, eyes squeezed shut when you popped the cork and added some to the batter. The recipe had called for real champagne, but you were not about to drop a fortune on a bottle just because you needed what amounted to barely more than a cup for the batch you were making, including the frosting, and a suitably sweet sparkling wine would do just as fine.

“I admit I went overboard with the whiskey that one time, but I hardly call this boozy,” you shot back, grabbing the bottle of gel food colouring, “And this needs to be... raspberrier.”

Adding a few more drops, you continued stirring until you had the perfect shade of deep pink. After scooping it into a piping bag, you hunched over the cupcakes, setting the tip in the middle. The small hairs on your neck prickled, and you looked up to find Bucky observing you intently, eyes flickering between you and the piping bag. He always seemed so fascinated by this stage of the baking, watching with never-fading interest how different nozzles yielded different results, following the measured rotations to build a perfect swirl or pattern.

“You don’t have to stand there. Come on, you can watch,” you said, straightening again when he started inching closer, then adding: “You can try piping one, if you want to.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks, gaze flicking towards the doorway leading to the front room where the display case was already stocked. “I don’t know, you make it look so fancy, I-I’ll probably mess it up.”

“One cupcake won't make a difference, Bucky. C’mere, I’ll show you a couple, and then you can try one if you want to.”

He seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before walking over and sidling up next to you. It was impossible to hide the content smile of having him close, and you bent forward again, setting the tip back to the middle of the first cupcake.

“This is called a rose swirl,” you explained, adding pressure to the bag and slowly moving it. “You start at the middle, like this… and then keep going around without tipping the bag or overlapping. And when you get to the edge, instead of continuing up to build a swirl, you just taper off…” You released pressure, pushing the nozzle against the edge of the cupcake to finish the rose. “Like so.”

Looking up at Bucky, his gaze was fixated on the cupcakes, almost to the point where you could see the wheels in his head turning, analyzing the exact movement of your hands, the amount of pressure on the bag, the angle you held it in.

“Could… could you do it again?” he asked, eyes not leaving the cupcake tray.

You bit your lip, amused and strangely touched by the dedication to learn something that in comparison to his job seemed so mundane. Still, you were happy to indulge him, hell, you’d spend a whole day piping different kinds of swirls onto cupcakes if that made Bucky happy. You repeated the rose swirl, keeping your movements slow for him to allow him to observe before handing him the bag, adjusting his grip and picking a cupcake from the tray for him.

“There, okay.” You felt like you were coaching him for a complicated procedure, but Bucky let you mold his grip the way you wanted to, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when you didn't hesitate to let your fingers gently pry at his metal hand, shifting its grip a bit higher.

“Tip to the middle…” he repeated to himself, setting the nozzle down. “Squeeze… round…”

“Keep the bag vertical, don't need to tilt it,” you reminded him softly, nudging his elbow.

Bucky immediately released the pressure on the bag, corrected his stance and then hesitated, “Is… Do I need to- Can I continue?”

Eyeing the half-finished swirl, you nodded. “It’s still connected. You’re good, just press gently and continue.”

Giving you a shy smile, Bucky looked back down at the cupcake, carefully adding pressure again to finish the rose. He offered no more commentary, piping the remaining edge and tapering off with a jerk of his hand that left the swirl a little too rough. You could tell he noticed and was trying to figure out a way to fix it that didn’t involve smoothing it out with a finger. Getting up on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, you lifted the frosted cupcake to join the others.

“I’ll make sure it gets sold first,” you told him with a wink, holding out your hand to get the piping bag back.

“It doesn’t look as good as yours,” he tried to protest, but the quirk of his lips told you the praise got to him.

“It’s perfect.”

Grinning, he handed you the frosting back, stealing a kiss before stepping aside to let you finish the remaining cupcakes. He was mesmerized by the way you moved, the precision in your piping, the playfulness as you pushed fresh raspberries and cooled smears of white chocolate into the frosting, regarding each with measured judgment before poking a raspberry deeper into the frosting or adjusting a smear of chocolate to tilt just so. He loved seeing you like this, at ease, joyous, beautiful.

“Whaddaya gonna call these?” he inquired, bringing your attention from a piece of chocolate that seemingly didn’t want to sit right.

“Rasp-utin,” came your answer, brows furrowing as you looked back at the cupcake.

“Rasp- But he was the- You’re naming a cupcake after the priest to the Russian tsar family?”

“If you can come up with a better name, then I’m all ears.”

You turned, hands on your hips and looking at him with a quirk to your lips and brow. Bucky tried, running through every language he knew trying to find one that might be good for a raspberry pun, drawing a blank with each.

“Something with… berry?” he suggested finally, feeling he needed to contribute with something.

“Yeah, but it’s not just any berry,” you sighed, picking up a perfectly pink raspberry, biting into it, licking your lips to spread the juice over you lips. “It’s raspberries. I want that to be clear.” Pulling him down to kiss him with your stained lips, you hummed against him. “You wouldn’t mistake this for anything else, would you?”

“No.” His voice sounded strained, but his lips were soft as ever as he kissed you, softly sucking and licking the raspberry taste off you. “Definitely raspberries.”

"So, Rasp-utin it is, then,” you smiled, nuzzling briefly against him before picking up the tray. “And if someone really asks, I'll just tell them it’s for the other guy."  
  
Bucky furrowed his brow, looking after you as you walked towards the front room. "Other- Wait, what other guy?"  
  
Balancing the tray delicately with one hand, you waved the other, not looking back at him. "Big guy. Shiny. Like your arm."  
  
"And he's... sweet? And pink?"  
  
"Well, he can’t be worse than a Russian priest who may or may not have cursed the imperial family,” you shrugged, slotting the tray into the case and carefully pushing it in all the way. “Bring me the chocolate ones from the fridge, please?”

“You gonna tell me you named them after the Unabomber?” Bucky quipped, leaning against the doorway.

“No,” you replied sweetly, coming up to place a kiss on his nose, “but let's just say  _Death By Chocolate_  might get a whole new meaning if you don’t step to it, Barnes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gave you another quick kiss, turning on his heel to fetch the final trays for you, helping you put together the display window and unlocking the front door. The two of you had barely made it back to the counter before the first customer stepped, one of your regulars who jokingly gruffed at Bucky for being there first. Bucky didn't bother letting the man know he had been there long before opening, exchanging a knowing smile with you while you picked out a lemon-poppy seed cupcake from the display case.

Little by little, customers began trickling in, quickly filling the tables. A few bought the pink Rasp-utin cupcakes, some snickering at the name, but not offering commentary beyond a “cute” here and a “really?” there. Bucky had ordered his usual cup of coffee, content with sitting by the counter, observing people as they came in. He tried guessing which cupcake people would buy, impressed by your ability to pick out just the right one for those who weren’t sure what to get.

“See anything you like, Sarge?”

Your gentle, teasing tone made his head snap up, his focus pulled from the cupcakes to your face and the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Somehow, half the night had passed by, and his second cup of coffee was getting cold in front of him.

“I don’t know, why don’t you pick for me, sweetheart?” he replied, smiling in kind, laying it on like he used to back in the 40’s when he wanted to charm a girl.

Biting down on your lip, you made a great show of looking at him, squinting and humming before doing an exaggerated stroll to the case, rummaging around before picking out a cupcake and placing it on a plate for him. Bucky could hardly suppress his laugh when you placed it in front of him. Rasp-utin. The one he had frosted.

“I’ve been saving this one,” you said, leaning on your elbows to come in closer to him. “It’s a very special cupcake. The best of the bunch. Sweet. Soft. One of a kind. Like you.”

“How do you do it?” Bucky asked, carefully picking up the cupcake to peel off the wrapper. “How do you know what everyone wants?”

Pivoting on the edge of the counter, you dipped forward to press a kiss to his cheek, whispering into his ear: “Would you believe me if I said it’s magic?”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, taking a bite of the cupcake, humming and letting his eyes flutter close. “Maybe. Your cupcakes sure are, though.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

Giggling, you returned to work, clearing a few tables in the far corner, stopping to talk to a couple of girls that apparently had some questions about him if Bucky interpreted their body language correctly. He could probably eavesdrop, his mind able to sift out the hum of conversation to focus on your voice and by extension, their voices. He could, but he didn’t want to. This was his normal, this was his second chance at the normal life he used to dream about in the trenches. So maybe it was the future, and he’d gone through hell to get here, but it was his.

It was his because he made the choice on how to spend whatever remained of his time (and according to Stark there would be plenty of it). It was his because he chose to spend it with you. It was his in the way time spent in your company was so wonderfully uncomplicated. For now, the two of you were confined by a fine line he didn't want to blur out of necessity. Bucky wanted to keep his work separate from you, didn't want the avenging to bleed into your life.

Of course he feared that one day any one of the numerous enemies he had would find out about you, and he’d wake up one day to a news report about a horrible accident in Brooklyn. Steve told him he did good with the Avengers, but Bucky had trouble believing such sentiments. He did what he could, but the ultimate judgment would be made by him, and he knew he would never be enough, do enough to repent for all the horrible things he’d done.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Bucky looked up, finding you seated next to him. Your cheeks were flushed, the temperature inside getting to you, beading a few droplets of sweat at top of your forehead. The evenings and nights were still a little too cold to prop the door open for any longer periods of time, and it seemed the A/C unit was having trouble keeping up tonight. He wanted to tell you just how much he loved you, how this felt like his equilibrium, how leaving turned his shoulders heavy and returning was more like coming home than anything else.

“I’m really glad I’m here tonight.”

It was a weak substitute, he knew as much, but at the same time it said everything. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when you leaned forward to plant a kiss on his cheeks, earning you a cacophony of whoops from the girls you had talked to. So maybe he didn’t blush, but he definitely got a silly, goofy grin on his face that made your eyes light up in a way that turned some part of his soul to complete mush. He didn’t care what he’d have to do to make it happen, he wanted to bring out that softness, that joy in you every day of his damn life.

The night wore on, hours disappearing into nowhere. People came and went, the supply of cupcakes in the display case slowly dwindling until only a few remained when you bid goodnight to the last customer and bolting the door. As so many nights before, the cupcakes from the case and the window display got carefully packed in a takeaway box, stored in the fridge for Bucky to take with him when he left only a few precious hours later. The team would pick him up from the rooftop, something you had laughed about for quite some time, vividly imagining the outrage of the neighbours, only for Bucky to remind you the quinjet was a very quiet aircraft.

You drifted together, your back against Bucky’s chest as he wound you around the kitchen for clean-up. His voice was a subdued whisper in your ears, his arms holding you steady while he did a silly little dance and helped you put stuff up on the high shelves with exaggerated sound effects. It took a little longer than usual, and even though you didn’t mind, fatigue slowly crept up on you until you were a giggling mess trying to stay awake as he led you up the stairs and into your apartment.

“I hate that you have to leave,” you mumbled against his chest a while later, standing outside your bedroom, breathing in the scent of him and basking in the softness of his t-shirt.

Bucky sighed into your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I know. God, I really set myself up to really wanna back out of the mission with this idea, didn’t I?”

“And you’ll be gone when I wake up.”

“But I’ll be here for the hours inbetween.”

You looked up at him, a pout to go with your sleepy whine. “Promise?”

“I promise. I’ll tuck you in and everything,” he chuckled, leading you into your bedroom, herding you into bed while you grumbled under your breath.

“But what if I can't sleep?”

Bucky wanted to snort and point out that you were almost asleep already, but he tamped down the impulse and gave you a wry smile.

“I had your special cupcake, maybe I’ll put a spell on you, sweetheart.”

It brought a harrumphing laugh from you, your face burrowing into his shirt. Bucky soothed a hand over your head, keeping you close to him. Your voice was subdued when you spoke again:

“Stay. Please.”

You clung to him, almost hanging with how tired you were. Bucky, for all his personal rules regarding him being in your bedroom, couldn’t deny you your request. Pulling your covers down, he let you slump down, shaking his head at your protesting whine when he let go of you to walk around the queen size bed. He hesitated only a second to get in, toeing off his shoes and sitting down, scooting up to lean against the headboard. In a second, you were there, attaching yourself to him like a leech, a sweet little hum of an exhale as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“‘M here, baby…” he murmured, running his left hand over your messy hair, letting you feel his presence. “Go to sleep.”

You gave another displeased sound. “But you’re here.”

“I’ll still be here, even if you sleep. You’ve had a long day, you need to get some rest.”

“So do you,” you protested, voice muffled as you burrowed into his side. “If you’re not sleeping, I won’t either.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at your stubbornness, shaking his head. “I will, but sweetheart, you’ve got one foot in the Sandman’s castle.”

“I can make him kick me out.”

“I don’t doubt that- ow!”

Even in your exhausted state, you’d manage to snake one hand under his shirt, giving a quick pinch to his side with a sleepy grin adorning your features.

“How ‘bout I make you a deal, okay?” Bucky tried, easing his hand back. “I tuck you in, real good, and then we both go to sleep.”

“Yeah? Pr-”

“I promise. You just lie back and I’ll turn you into a little blanket burrito.”

To Bucky’s immense relief, you relented, rolling over on your back and allowing him to turn and get started. Gently, he smoothed out the covers over you, pressing them in tight around you, working with slow, gentle touches. By the time Bucky tucked the last corner around your body, your covers now a soft cocoon around you, you were already snoring.

He swore he would only stay a little while, make sure you were truly asleep. He didn't mean to slowly sink down beside you, turning carefully onto his side so he wouldn't fall out of the bed. He didn't mean to hold you, but in his defense, you slung your arm over him first. He didn't mean to fall asleep, not in your bed at least.

But he did.

When the alarm on his phone sounded a few hours later, he jolted awake, startled by the vibrating against his thigh and the obnoxious alarm signal that sounded amplified in the quiet room. In his attempt to get to the phone he might have rolled over and fallen out of bed. Turning it off, Bucky fully expected you to wake up, too, and laugh at him for falling, but you kept sleeping, dead to the world. Your covers, which he had so carefully tucked around you, now lay bunched up by your side, and as if your body knew he was no longer there, your arms reached out and pulled the blankets into a tight hug.

Shaking his head, Bucky got up, quiet as a mouse. He briefly contemplated prying the covers from your grip and tucking you in again, but you looked so peaceful and he didn't want to risk disturbing your sleep. Instead, he leaned in, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear and pressing a kiss to your cheek. It was for all intents and purposes a small gesture, he’d kissed you many times before, but somehow this was the kiss that sent his mind reeling because it felt so blessedly  _normal_. Sharing a bed, getting up for work, kissing you goodbye before he left. Didn't matter that he’d fallen asleep next to you by mistake or that his work was not exactly a 9 to 5 and that because of said work his goodbye kisses might turn out to be just that.

In the moment, those facets of his life were irrelevant, because through the dusky light, he could see you smile through your sleep, pulling the covers tighter. With a smile, he tiptoed out of the room, making a quiet exit to the rooftop where the quinjet picked him up five minutes later. As Clint piloted the aircraft out of the city, Bucky’s body screamed at him. It wanted more sleep. It wanted your smile and the too-small bed.

It wanted more nights like this.


	9. Brooklyn Whiteout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re finally here, guys. This fic, this series has come to an end after almost exactly two years of living and loving Bucky Barnes and delicious cupcakes. I can’t thank all of you enough for the interest you’ve taken in this series, the encouragement and love shown. Special thanks go out to my lovely Loup, who has answered all of my extremely random questions about New York in general and Brooklyn in particular. I hope that this final chapter ties up the story of Bucky and his Midnight Cupcake.

_White chocolate: a variety of chocolate, recognizable from its pale yellow or white colour. While milk and dark chocolate contain cocoa solids, white chocolate only makes use of the cocoa butter, with sugar and milk solids added. It pairs well with both milk and dark chocolate, as well as citrus, strawberry, pistaschio, coconut, mint and saffron._

“We should have taken the jet.”

“Because nothing says low-key like landing an aircraft on the roof of your building.”

You huffed, pulling your knees up and placing your feet on the dashboard, turning to glower and pout at the blizzard outdoors. “We’ve been sitting here for almost an hour. If I have to look at that ridiculous bumper sticker one more time, I am calling Tony-”

“You don’t have his number, sweetheart…”

“-to come airlift us out of here with his freaking suit.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky tilt his head, an uncertain sound slipping from him, “Not sure if that would be more or less conspicuous.”

Turning your glare to him, he only gave you a soft smile, taking hold of your hand and stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “C’mon, it’s a blizzard. The entire city pretty much shuts down, nothing’s changed about that. We’ll get home when we get home. Place isn’t going anywhere, and you’re closed tonight, remember?”

You huffed another breath of annoyance, but you couldn’t deny that Bucky made valid points. You’d picked this day for a reason, he was in the city and you had your weekly day off. After almost a year of trying to piece together a life that was shared rather than a constant jigsaw puzzle, you and Bucky were finally in a situation where you could stay in one place for the most part. It had taken time, but after the mission where he’d stayed with you before, kissing you goodbye while you slept, Bucky had taken steps to scale back. Shorter missions turned to less missions, turned into a request to not be called upon unless absolutely needed.

That wasn’t to say he sat idly by and rolled his thumbs. Compromises were made. He split his time between the city and the compound upstate, consulting on mission planning and training the team and the agents that steadily joined the rank after the dust had settled on S.H.I.E.L.D. He could still be gone days at a time, sometimes a little longer if the situation called for it, but it was a compromise both you and Bucky could live with. He kept a schedule, didn’t find himself out in the field. It gave him time to process the changes that had come with having the programming broken. It meant small steps forward, unexpected pitfalls. It meant a smile on his face when he remembered a song he’d heard before the war and excitedly dancing around the kitchen with you when you found it on a Spotify-playlist. It meant a frantic call just before closing time, his breaths ragged and words catching in his throat as he tried to find his way back to himself and needed -  _wanted_  - an anchor.

It meant living in three places, and soon enough, the bouncing between places began to catch up to Bucky. The compound was work and staying there made him feel on edge. The tower was meant to be home, but despite the bed he’d picked out himself, the few personal items he had been able to acquire, the team and familiarity present, there was a piece missing. Brooklyn felt like home, the scent of cupcakes and the cramped bed he’d ended up falling asleep in more times than he could count, despite his own conviction that he shouldn’t, just to feel you close… That was more of a home to him than he’d had in decades. And yet, it was the one place he spent the least time at, the one he had to tear himself away from again and again.

He brought it up after a particularly harrowing shift, where once again, you’d been too tired to stand on your feet and Bucky had carried you upstairs. Tucked against his chest, you’d mumbled a plea for him to stay, and looking around the bedroom, he found that for the first time, it felt natural to be there. There was apprehension, of course there was, but he didn’t feel like an intruder, like the monster that usually hid under the bed was burrowing somewhere inside of him. He could belong here, with you. The words had slipped from his lips before he could stop himself.

_“What if we moved in together?”_

_The seconds ticked by, and for a moment, Bucky was sure you’d fallen asleep. He’d cursed, trying to figure out how he could bring it up with you again, but then:_

_“Sure, Buck. Let’s move in t’gether.”_

By some miracle, you had not forgotten it while you slept, and when Bucky found himself in your kitchen next time, you set down the bowl and spatula you were holding, and asked if he’d been serious. That had sparked a conversation that went by with surprisingly few hitches. You didn’t want to leave Brooklyn, and Bucky agreed. It would be safer, no need for you to go back and forth between Manhattan and Brooklyn in the early mornings. He could live with commuting to the compound.

There were compromises there, too. You might be safer not having to commute, but Bucky wouldn’t take any chances that danger wouldn’t find you in your home. New security courtesy of Stark had arrived one day, overseen personally by Bucky, and you’d trudged down looking ready to strangle someone with an apron, curtly asking them to keep it down. Bucky, in turn, had to concede his bed, realizing it would be too small for the both of you. He made up for it by making sure a new couch got ordered, all too happy to see the old one go. You had worried his stuff would not fit in and that everything would feel cramped and like he wasn’t living there. His affects had fit into two large boxes, both now tucked into the back seat of the car, and after a conversation with your landlord, Bucky had gotten approval for a minor renovation that would enlarge your bedroom.

“We’ve moved, what, five feet in the last hour?” you complained, shifting in your seat to look out the rear window.

“Half the bridge, but okay,” Bucky said, leaning his head to rest on the steering wheel.

“Well, if I can’t call Tony to come airlift us, would it be okay if I called him or Sam to bring us a fucking camping kitchen and freeze dried meals, because we are not getting off this bridge before nightfall.”

“Why would you ask for a camping kitchen when they could just bring us takeout?”

“God damn it, Bucky, I’m trying to be dramatic here!”

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing, gosh darn, I hadn’t noticed.”

His voice was teasing, dripping with sarcasm, and you turned to glare at him. Much as you wanted to keep up the facade, it was hard when he just kept smirking at you. It made you wonder just how much the man in front of you resembled the man he’d been. Had the Bucky that Steve knew from before the war smiled like this, with that infuriating quirk of his mouth that made it impossible to stay mad at him? Had he been just as teasing, just as much of a smartmouth?

“Sweetheart, you’re staring.”

You blinked, your vision refocusing. The smirk on Bucky’s face has melted into a soft smile, head still resting against his hands on the steering wheel. Letting out a sigh, you smile in return, reaching over to press your forehead against his. The constant zipping back and forth has diluted that sweet caramel scent, but you can still pick it up.

“Not much else to stare at, is there?” you mumbled, closing your eyes, allowing yourself to pretend you weren’t stuck in a car in the middle of the Brooklyn bridge. “‘Sides, if I had to pick one thing to stare at for the rest of my life, you’re top contender for that honour.”

There’s the softest hum, followed by the light press of lips against the corner of your mouth. Bucky shifted carefully, hugging you as best he can. Yeah, there are about a million other places you’d rather be right now, but this? This wasn’t so bad considering the circumstances. Anywhere Bucky was would always be an okay place in your book.

It was another hour before you had snailed your way off the bridge and all the way home. An accident just off the bridge had severely halted traffic, and part of you had felt a little bad about complaining as you saw the gathering of police cars and fire trucks. Bucky had squeezed your hand reassuringly, making a turn to steer you towards your neighbourhood.

“Well, that was horrifying,” he huffed, hoisting the heaviest box to shift his grip.

“We’re stuck almost two hours on the bridge, but you lose it trying to find a parking spot?” you teased him, fiddling to reach into your jeans pockets for your keys.

“This was never a problem when Steve and I grew up here!”

“Did you even have a driver’s licence back then?”

“That’s entirely beside the point! I have one now, unlike some.”

“I’ll have you know I passed on my first attempt-” you began, but Bucky interrupted you.

“I’m talking about Steve. I have no idea who the hell issued him a licence, but they should be fired, which is what I told the surly lady at the DMV and she nearly kicked me out.”

Snorting, you unlocked the door, holding it open for Bucky to enter, “Oh, Bucky, did no one tell you that the DMV is hell on earth?”

“I didn’t know they were serious!” Bucky defended himself, waiting for you to punch in the code for to the stairs.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you have just become a true New Yorker by complaining about parking. I’ll knight you when we get upstairs.”

“Sweetheart, I was a New Yorker long before you were a glimmer in your daddy’s eye.”

Grimacing, you stop, turning to Bucky, who’s grinning wide and proud at you. “Please, don’t. That word has been banned.”

“What word?”

“You are much better off not knowing,” you grumbled, unlocking the door to the apartment and stepping inside, breathing in the familiar scent of home.

“Fine, I’ll google it,” Bucky said, carefully pushing past you to set down the boxes he was carrying.

“It’s your funeral.”

With a shrug, you set down the box you had been carrying and headed straight for the kitchen. It may have been your day off, but that didn’t mean you didn’t want something sweet for you and Bucky.

“Do I detect a challenge in your voice, young lady?”

“I’m just saying, you have a history of unfortunate google searches behind you, mister,” you replied, turning on the oven and opening a cupboard to pull out ingredients. “I’d leave this one be if I were you.”

Bucky only hummed, putting down his own box and shuffled around the living room area. With the impending renovation, the two of you had moved your bed and dresser out of the bedroom, packing down anything you didn’t need on a daily basis in boxes. Your broken couch had been disposed of, and in its place stood your bed, surrounded by boxes that made up makeshift bedside tables. It wasn’t a perfect setup; Bucky had regarded the windows with suspicion when it became clear you wouldn’t be able to use the bedroom while it was being rebuilt. Heavy drapes were hung that could be pulled shut while either of you slept, and whenever you both shared the bed, he insisted on sleeping closer to the windows, shielding you with his body.

“Can’t keep off the cupcakes even on your day off, huh?”

Your gave a smirk, cracking eggs into a bowl, “As if you’ve ever complained.”

“Never have and never will.” Bucky stepped over a low wall of books to get to the counter, leaning his arms on it and taking in the assortment of ingredients. “Whatcha making this time?”

“Haven’t really decided. I just need something to do. You’ll have to wait and see what you end up with.”

Leaning over for another kiss, Bucky left you alone to sort through the boxes, unpacking that which could be unpacked, padding around the apartment in silence while you baked. You had thought it would feel weird to start having him here on a permanent basis, to suddenly share every facet of your day with him. Granted, this was only day one, so maybe the awkwardness would come later. For now, his presence felt as natural, as easy as anything. While the cupcakes baked, you helped rearrange the labyrinth of boxes piled in front of the tv, setting Bucky on cupcake watch while you took a shower.

“So… know what you’re making yet?” Bucky asked a little later as you sat cross-legged in front of him, working lotion across your bare back, his breath tickling you.

“I have… an idea. I don’t know if it’s a thing, but if it isn’t, I’m making it a thing,” you replied, cocking your head to the side with a sigh to let him smooth his hands up your neck.

“That sounds very secretive.”

“Wanna see how it turns out before I make any grand statements. Respect the process, Barnes.”

“Have I ever done anything else?” came his quip, followed quickly by a kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Very dangerous question, Bucky…”

Bucky appeased you, kissing up your throat and pulling you back into his warm embrace, tempered only by the cool touch of his metal arm. It hit you then; this would be your life now. A shared experience, combining the both of you, learning how to work together, to live together. You weren’t naïve enough to think every day would be like this, you knew what you had signed up for, as did Bucky. There’d be soft days, and there would be days that would test you both. Your stomach flipped at the prospect, and you pressed closer to the man behind you. If Bucky noticed anything, he didn’t say anything, simply held you in amicable silence until you heaved a sigh and slithered out of his arms to finish the cupcakes.

The measured work, coring, filling, piping, it set you at ease. Whatever happened, there would always be this. Not exactly common ground, but a way back to the beginning. Smiling, you set the frosted cupcakes aside to work on the finishing touch, roughly chopping up white chocolate to melt, preparing a sheet of parchment paper and making a small piping bag with a small enough opening to accommodate the designs you had in mind.

“Now those look familiar.”

Flinching, you blew out a breath, quickly covering up the little mistake with a flourish. “Figured you might.”

“Best first cupcake I ever had,” Bucky commented, looking at the array of piped bridges and highrises.

“With one marked difference.”

“White chocolate? So that would make this a..?”

“Brooklyn Whiteout,” you supplied, touching the tip of the piping bag to the last bridge you had created and pulling away to finish it off. “Thought it would be fitting.”

“Is there such a thing as Brooklyn Whiteout?”

Taking the tray and placing it in the fridge for the chocolate to set, you turned to him, “Told you, I’m not sure. Maybe there is, just not exactly like this.”

“So… can I taste one?” His eyes glittered, hands clasped behind his back and body swaying from side to side, the picture of boyish charm.

“Ten minutes, Buck. You can wait ten minutes. Promise you’ll get the first one I shove a very bad chocolate effigy of the Brooklyn bridge into.”

Huffing and letting his shoulder slump, Bucky pouted at you, casting a longing gaze at the piped cupcakes at the end of the counter. Piercing him with a stern gaze, you shuffled over to hover over the tray, signalling with your index and middle finger between the two of you that you were watching his every move. It became a battle of stares as you each tried to make the other one crack, so much so that the minutes ticked by without either one of you noticing. Only when Bucky’s phone chirped with a message from Steve did you break off, hurrying to get the chocolate decorations and carefully peel a bridge from the parchment paper and perch it into the swirl of buttercream, crumbling morsels of a saved cupcake over it while Bucky typed out a reply.

When he returned to you, he looked at the finished cupcake in front of you, smiling as he bit his lower lip, “So, what’s good here tonight?”

Giving a laugh, you played right along: “Want me to make a suggestion?”

“Please.”

Daintily picking up the cupcake and nodding for him to hold out his hand, you placed it in his palm, cupping it in yours. “Brooklyn Whiteout cupcake. Sweetest thing you’ll find.” With a wink, you added: “Perfect thing to warm you up after a trip in this inclement weather.”

It pulled a snicker from Bucky, remembering all too well your words about the first cupcake he ever had in your shop.

“Can I convince you to join me, miss?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to contemplate his offer, before peeling a chocolate highrise from the parchment paper and sticking it in a cupcake, rounding the counter to join Bucky on his side of it, “I suppose I can take some time to enjoy one in good company.”

Touching your cupcakes together in a toast you dug into your cupcakes, humming in harmony as the sweet buttercream frosting mixed with the luscious white chocolate custard and the soft sponge of the cake. Bucky mumbled how he’d never tell Sam that these existed, making himself another one and devouring it in just two bites. The nervousness that had awoken the butterflies in your stomach stirred again, and you smoothed your hands over your shirt, brushing away stray crumbs.

“I haven’t really…” you began, hesitating when Bucky turned his gaze to you, eyebrows pulled together at your tone. “I haven’t really lived with anyone since… since college, I think?”

“Sweetheart, are you-”

“No! No, no, trust me, I want to live with you. God knows we couldn’t keep doing what we did. I… I just want you to know. I haven’t lived with anyone in a long while. And I’m not gonna pretend that it won’t be hard for both of us. But can we remember these moments? When shit hits the fan, can we remember this?”

Bucky licked his lips of a stray smear of buttercream, letting out a sigh and pulling you to him. “We can, darling. We absolutely can. And I’m not claiming to be some kind of expert on living together, but… We’ll make it work, okay? Whatever happens.”

With a little encouragement, he backed to the bed, sitting down to allow you to straddle his hips before lying down, clasping his arms around the small of your back. His reassurance settled most of your worries, but you still felt the need to add something.

“I won’t be perfect.”

The little smile that had tugged at the corners of Bucky’s mouth split into a wide grin. Without warning, he kissed you, long and deep, and in that kiss lived every ounce of love and affection for you that had grown in him since that first night, carried sweetly on the lingering taste of white chocolate as you tasted each other.

Slowly, you eased out of the kiss, a little out of breath, your eyes drinking in the love that mirrored in the other’s. Bucky’s hands slid to your hips, holding you steady while he rolled you over, caging you underneath him. His reply was as sure as yours had been all those months ago, cementing the future he had scarcely dared dream about before:

_“Neither am I.”_


End file.
